Come See the Paradise

Chapter 1 – At First Sight

It had been a long, slow climb up the side of the mountain, and both brothers were pleased when they finally crested the hill and saw the road and valley below stretch out before them. There were storm clouds gathering overhead and a mist lingered over everything, but the sun broke through in several spots and cast a warm glow over the trees that it reached. The younger brother, not prone to be astonished by too much in the way of scenery, felt his breath catch in his throat when he viewed the sight in front of him. For the first time in his life, he found his surroundings to be breathtakingly beautiful.

His brother, riding slightly ahead of him, heard the small gasp and turned back towards the sound to see if there was a problem. Bart's face reflected a stunned expression, and Bret wondered what he'd missed that left his brother in such awe. "You okay, son?" he called, and Bart's head bobbed up and down, but no sound came out of his mouth.

The younger man pulled his horse up and sat looking out across the unexpected splendor. For the first time in years he was simply overwhelmed by the view in front of him. "Bart, come on!" his brother yelled, and he finally urged his mount forward. He was utterly lost for words.

They started down the mountain on the dirt and rock road, the horses skidding and sliding as they picked their way carefully along the path. He blinked once, twice, and almost expected the visage in front of him to disappear, but it remained fixed in his sight, gaining grandeur and clarity as he rode down the hill. He felt frozen, no longer wanting to travel on to the town known as Mystic. He wanted to stop and stay right where he was, and never have to look at any other land the rest of his life.

"Bart, what is wrong with you?" Bret called again, once more turning around in the saddle to check on his brother's progress. Or rather, his lack of progress. "We'll never get to town before dark if you don't move a little faster. What are ya gonna do, pitch a tent and stay there?"

Yes, exactly. That's exactly what he wanted to do. He shook his head, to try and erase the picture from his brain, but it had taken root there and had no intention of leaving. "It's just so . . . . so beautiful," he mumbled under his breath. Realizing that Bret was correct, and not really wanting to sleep on the ground one more night, he nudged the gelding forward and caught up to the lead rider.

"What were you thinking?"

Bart chuckled at his brother's question. "I . . . . . really wasn't," he answered. "I wasn't thinking at all." That was true. He was so taken with the vista in front of him that he'd stopped worrying about everything and just let his mind flutter off on its own. "Sorry."

"Considering how long it's taken us to get here and the way we've had to spend our nights, I'd think you'd be in a hurry to get out of the hills." The hills Bret spoke of, of course, were the Black Hills of South Dakota, occupied mainly by the Lakota Indian Nation, and they were none too happy with the encroaching white populace. The reason for the 'invasion' by the white man could be explained in one word – gold. Where there was gold, there were miners. And where there were miners there was poker. Thus the reason for the Maverick's trek into the towns and mining camps of the region. They were currently headed towards what had started as a small mining camp and grown rapidly into the town known as Mystic, where gambling was second only to drinking as a full-time occupation when not searching for what rightfully belonged to the Lakota's.

The brothers had been traveling together for some time now, ever since leaving Dodge City for Reno. When things didn't work out there quite the way they envisioned they'd spent a while in San Francisco, then gone on to Denver for what promised to be a big poker game. It was big alright, but not in the way they'd planned. Forced to find a way to re-establish a poker stake, Bart had taken work as a Faro dealer while Bret played small-time poker and picked up whatever work came his way. It took them almost three months to get back on their feet, but by the time Bret's near-fatal gunshot wound was truly healed they had enough money to head out again for parts unknown. Which led them into territories they might not normally frequent.

The moment they'd encroached on Lakota land they'd taken turns sleeping in shifts, trying to stay alive and maintain possession of a full head of hair. Sleeping half the night and keeping watch the other half was no way to spend the nights as far as the Mavericks were concerned, and both looked forward to an actual town and a proper hotel, and the biggest luxury of all, a bed. Oh yes, and a bath. Fastidiousness about one's personal grooming does not do well when riding a horse all day and sleeping on the dirt at night.

So Bret Maverick was not inclined to indulge his brother's peculiar fascination with the surrounding landscape any longer than necessary. He was tired and dirty and starving, and he wanted all the things he'd been missing for the past week. That meant doing whatever was required to hurry his brother along. It was still a several hour ride to Mystic and he saw no reason to make it any lengthier than it had to be.

Bart sighed. How to explain to Bret the hold the land in front of him had claimed on his heart and mind. He couldn't, because he didn't understand it himself. He'd never been drawn to the land; not at home in Little Bend, Texas or any other place he'd been. Land was just a place to build houses and saloons and hotels, to keep cattle and horses, and any other important property. He couldn't understand Samantha Crawford or Amy Stanhope and their intense love of their particular piece of earth, and he'd never tried to. And without warning the same feeling had grabbed him by the throat and refused to let go, and under no circumstances did he want to leave.

And he knew he had to. He was just as dirty and tired and hungry as Bret, and he wanted nothing more than a meal, a bath and a clean bed. But he wanted it right here, in this very spot, and not down in a town he'd never seen. So he sighed again and dug his heels into Noble's side, and the gelding snorted his displeasure. "Sorry, old man. Gotta catch up with the boss." The horse snorted again but broke into a quick trot until his rider pulled him up alongside Bret's new mount.

He'd had a mare in Dodge City, a gentle, sweet-natured golden roan girl that would do anything asked of her, and Bret left her there with Matt Clennon because a seven year-old boy needs just that kind of mount. In Denver he'd bought a high-spirited dark brown stallion, not much more than three or four years old, and a bit on the cantankerous side. His name was Foxworth, and Bret had immediately shortened it to Fox due to his quick movements. They were still getting to know each other, and it could be a tempestuous relationship at times. When Noble came up on his flank the stallion nickered his aggravation and strained at the reins to pull away.

"Settle down, Fox, you been ridin' with him for days," came the command, which the horse promptly ignored. Noble moved to the left and nudged the stallion, who quickly decided the best thing to do was unseat his rider. Bret wasn't having any of that and kept a firm hand on the unruly stallion.

"And you thought Noble was a handful," laughed Bart, glad to see his brother distracted enough to quit nagging him to hurry along. "You've got yourself a problem there."

Bret nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I shoulda listened to you and bought the pinto. Fox makes Noble look like a child's pony in temperament."

"Oh, you wanna repeat that statement? You shoulda listened to me?"

"Smart aleck. Yes, I shoulda listened to you. Next time I buy a horse just hit me in the head, okay?"

"Can I get that in writing?"

"No."

The road had evened out and both horses broke into a cantor. Bart looked around once more, making sure he knew this spot so he could find it again when he wanted to. They rode the rest of the way down the mountain in silence, and it wasn't until they were into the next valley that either of them spoke. "Why the heck is the town named Mystic, anyway?"

"How should I know?" the older brother answered. "Maybe somebody that had visions named it. You know, like your dreams."

Bart hadn't told Bret about the one he'd had in Dodge City, which featured them as old men rocking on the porch. He wondered what his brother would make out of that one. Sometimes he understood the things he dreamt; sometimes he didn't. He just knew that whenever something seemed to be bothering him he'd bring forth a strange one, and he had ceased worrying about them. They seemed to have a mind of their own, anyway. Back to the name of the town.

"Maybe it's named for a Medicine Man," Bart offered, and Bret nodded.

"Sounds reasonable. Better than any other answer I've got."

"Or maybe it's named for the mist that hung in the air up there," and Bart nodded at the mountain they'd just descended.

Bret laughed and remarked, "Doesn't all that thinkin' make your head hurt?

"Nope, not in the least," Bart answered as they rode up in front of the hotel, appropriately named 'Mystic Hotel.' "Not any more than yours does."

They dismounted and tied up the horses, then went inside. "We'd like a room, and we each need a bath drawn," Bret told the desk clerk.

"Alright, sir, that'll be two dollars for the room and fifty cents extra for the baths. Sign the register, please," and the clerk pointed to the book and pen.

"Your turn to pay, Brother Bart," Bret reminded his brother as he signed the register.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," commented the younger of the two gamblers. "Why do I get stuck with all the expensive places?"

"Just lucky, I guess. Just remember why we're here."

"Me remember? I wasn't the one that lost all our money in Denver," this was thrown out like a wet dog seeking comfort from a rainstorm.

"I've never seen a run of cards like that. You said the same thing."

"Just humorin' you."

"Gentlemen," the clerk interrupted the brothers. "Who gets the first bath?"

"I do," they both said at the same time. "Flip a coin?" Bret asked nonchalantly.

"Cut the curds," Bart answered, knowing that Bret still had his two-headed coin. "My cards."

"Fine," Bret answered. He pulled a jack from Bart's deck, and his brother turned over a king.

"I do," Bart stated. "How late is supper served in the dinin' room?"

"Until nine o'clock, Mr. Maverick," the clerk answered as he read the register. "You should have plenty of time."

"Ah, that's a lovely sound, isn't it Brother Bret? Plenty of time."

"Yes, sir, Brother Bart, it most certainly is. Shall we adjourn to our room?"

"You betcha. Last one there pays for supper." And Bart took off for the staircase, a half step ahead.

Bret turned to the desk clerk and smirked. "Children," he pronounced, and took off after his brother.