The Sweetwater Trail
By Namiyo11
Chapter 1-The Town of Men: Welcome to Sweetwater
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Arizona Territory, circa 1872.
A dirt main street, recently built shops with wooden walks that showed little weathering, a saloon, stables at the end of town, men going about their business. Normal enough, but something was wrong here, in this tiny town in the Arizona mountains. Doogan knew it as he rode in with his men past the sign announcing they'd entered Sweetwater, Arizona Territory, Pop. 67. Ol' Jack, his right hand man, glared and spat over his horse's neck.
"Ain't a woman onna street! Lookit!" he grumbled. A long ride laying a false trail for the posse, and now a town with no womenfolk? It weren't right. This weren't a camp or nothing, so there ought to be women. At least that's what he figured. If there weren't-hell, what fun could they have?
It wasn't like Jack cared if they were wanting to be friendly or not, after all.
"They's got whores to the saloon, reckon. We'll go an grab a few. Have a little fun with our money, eh, boys?" Doogan announced, and his gang whooped. They tied up the horses and went inside the tidy building with the sign of two bright red roses framing the words 'The Silk Rose Saloon'.
As they did, a man crouched on the roof of the jail frowned and pushed his hat back on his forehead. Wonderful. A gang of fucking outlaws in his nice quiet town. He jumped down, and the short man in an apron and shirtsleeves sweeping the walk in front of his general store glanced over, completely unsurprised at the two story leap.
"Morning, Sheriff. Reckon they's trouble?" Howie knew they were if he'd come down. But he still had his hopes of being wrong.
"Morning, Howie. Yep."
"You sure?"
"Ain't drovers or nothing. Recognize the leader from the Wanted posters, the others too. They're suspected of robbing a Bank in Culver the week last, bunch of other shit too," he answered. Plus...they reeked of human blood and human fear. Old, but it was there. That stench didn't scrub or sweat off easy.
"Roker ain't gonna like it if you wreck up the Rose."
"Roker," the man's eyes lit with a certain enjoyment, "can deal with it if I have to fight them."
He strolled inside, and Howie just shook his head. The sheriff was never wrong when it came to such things. The storekeeper just hoped the only saloon in town wasn't going to need too much fixing up afterwards. Roker might raise the price of drinks again.
Besides, the dem...er...nah. The man who wore the town's badge seemed to take entirely too much pleasure in such things. Especially causing trouble for Roker, as everyone called him. Still, ought to be fun to watch. There were only five of them, so it wouldn't be much trouble for him. Anyone else? Sure. But not their sheriff. It was why Sweetwater was a quiet little town, after all.
Yash liked it that way.
The swinging doors opened and a whitehaired man in a black hat and a red overcoat strolled in, taking a table in the corner. The fellow tending the bar looked up. For just a moment, he really wanted to throw the newcomer out. He really did.
"What do'ye mean, there ain't no women?" Doogan was glaring over an empty whiskey glass at Roker, who sighed as he poured another set of shots down the line of men. The man in shirtsleeves, vest, and a blue silk cravat with an apron over it shook his head. His small ponytail swept across his collar as he did.
"Not a one. If you want a girl for awhile, ride to Culver. Madame Minnie's house is your best bet. This was a camp, and they started building it up a couple years back, but there's no whorehouse or anything. Not a single woman lives in this town," Roker explained patiently in excellent English.
"Three days straight ride away? Shit," Doogan scowled. Culver wasn't an option for a reason.
"Tell me about it," Roker answered. He fixed a cup of coffee and brought it to the newcomer's table.
"Miroku, you having fun?" Yash asked pleasantly, taking his coffee. He spoke the native language they shared, and the man scowled.
"You paying? You bust up my place, and so help me-"
"Do what? Remember what you were? Not likely. That would mean you wised up and went back to monking. You know only Shinto and Buddhist magics work on me, not your damned bartending. Just stay out of the way, and put the coffee on my tab...bonzu," Yash answered smugly.
"Rotten little youkai. Ought to drink tea if you want a taste of the old country. Or convert back to Shinto or Buddhism instead of Christianity," Roker answered. The gang took this in with interest, unable to follow the words, but watching the show.
"I was one back there, thanks. But maybe if there were a Temple...or a real Monk in five hundred miles, I'd consider changing my mind," Yash shot back, earning a scowl of annoyance from his host.
He'd left monasticism and it's strictures far behind when he traveled first to China to study-then here.
"Lousy with Chinamen, this place," Ol' Jack opined.
"Yep. They bleed like any other shopkeeper, though. We's can't have women...well. Might as well have a little fun here. What say you boys?" Doogan said expansively.
"Funny, I don't see any Chinese here. Do you?" Yash asked Roker as he returned to the bar. The dark haired man sighed.
"No. Just us," Roker answered sadly. He was getting ready to duck behind the heavy bar both for cover-and the loaded shotgun he kept there. Yash smiled and switched to English.
"First, we're Japanese, not Chinese. Second, you fuckers are wanted for robbing a bank in Culver along with horse theft, rustling, and murder through half of the Territory. Third-I'm taking your sorry asses in. You're all under arrest. Drop the guns, and put your hands where I can see 'em."
The coat was twitched aside to show a star pinned to his black vest.
"Oooo. A sheriff," Ol' Jack laughed with the rest. Five on one were good odds, after all.
"Well now, Sheriff. I do believe we just ain't minded to go quietly today," Doogan smiled and drew his gun with the rest of them.
In his store, Howie sighed as the screams and shots began. Most of the Townsfolk barely bothered looking up from their daily routine as Doogan's gang fell. If they did, it was as connoisseurs of a fine ruckus.
A particularly loud and agonized scream, a mocking yell, and a crash was followed by a shriek of outrage in Japanese as Miroku tried to save his saloon from ruin without obstructing justice. The word 'Europe', kept coming up, and Howie correctly deduced the expensive, imported piano had just been broken. Hurled, actually. Ah, yes, most of the town had learned those terms for the human anatomy in the sheriff's native language from repeated exposure. What Roker could do with the bill for the damage, Howie guessed. Also correctly.
"Shit, must've called Yash a Chinaman or something," John Carson, the town's resident Stableowner, said with a head shake as he bought a new blanket at the store.
"Reckon," Howie agreed, passing him his change. "Town meeting tonight."
"Yep," a nod as the man patted his pocket and they grinned at each other, "got mine, and a little extra. Got lucky last night in a game at the Rose. Need any more for the fund?" he nodded to a squat box on the shelf behind Howie's counter as the man wrapped his blanket up in paper. The poker had gotten very high stakes around town the last few weeks, and for a very special reason.
"Nope. Made the last of it yesterday. But I do thank you for the kindly offer and your business."
"Glad to hear it. Hell-it's worth every penny," another smile, and the man took his purchase and left.
That night the entire town gathered at the newly built Church. Dr. Phil Barnes, the mayor and the local physician, raised his hands at the pulpit for quiet when the reverend yielded the floor. Reverend Maxwell just sighed as he saw Yash leaning against the wall and listening. The parson had lived here for two years now, and it still pained him that the sheriff was able to come into the Church at all without...being cured, as it were. No matter what Roker and Yash said about the man's origins, it still seemed weird to him. Unnatural.
But he was here most every Sunday and the Reverend was a firm believer in the power of redemption.
"Alright! We know why we're here. Sweetwater's a fine town these days. We've got good houses, businesses, a good life here. We took a mining camp and made it into a town fit for families. But we're lacking the one thing that could make it right," the mayor began pompously.
"Come out an' say it, Phil! We ain't got any women!" a wag yelled.
"I was getting there," Phil answered with a scowl. "Now, as you know, the Town Council has determined that we need to fix this problem. We've all talked it over, you've all had your say, and you know why we're here tonight. To sign the contracts and collect the money, out in the open, so no one can say he was cheated or signed on when he didn't. I'll let Mr. Aberdeen take the floor," the town's banker, a thin, sharp faced man with washed out blue eyes and sandy hair combed fashionably, nodded and rose from the table brought in for tonight's meeting.
"Alright," Aberdeen smiled, "you know the deal, but I'll say it again. I know it ain't cheap, but Mr. Carter is a reputable agent. Better to pay for quality, right?"
"Hell, I'll settle for breathin'!" Frank Tomlin, the town Carpenter, shouted to laughs.
Mr. Aberdeen scowled at the heckler, but ignored him.
"Each man'll come up, pay his fee, and sign the contract. Terms are simple. Part goes to the Agent, part to the lady herself, and part towards the travel costs for your brides to be. Details are all in the contracts that were posted at the Bank. The ladies'll be brought here by wagon train and the reverend will perform the weddings when they arrive. It's fifteen hundred apiece, cash on the barrel head only, gentlemen. Come on up, and form a line, please!" he slapped down his money into the iron strongbox he'd brought and signed a contract with a flourish of his pen.
The crown surged anyway, most brandishing money.
"Line up, he said!" at Yash's bark-they settled down.
The Town Council exchanged looks. Yes. It had to be done. Best way to handle matters as the line moved along. To Yash's shock, even Miroku put cash in the kitty. Seeing his expression, the monk turned gambler turned Saloon owner grinned.
"Mr. Carter has assured me he can find a nice Oriental girl, and he'd try to get me a Japanese bride. Even if she's Chinese, I could care less. So long as she's pretty."
"Uh huh. You want to get married?" Yash's tone was of utter disbelief.
"Three years since I won that Saloon in a poker game visiting you in this little town you wandered into without me. Three years since I've had properly made food now that I can't just head to a restaurant in San Francisco. Three years of riding to Madame Minnie's when I could find someone to look after the Rose for a week at a stretch to ride there and back. What do you think?" Miroku sighed.
Yash just blushed and let it go. He never went to Culver for that.
"Now, I'd like to say something," Howie rose as they finished up, "like every man here, I've got a lot riding on this. That money has to get to St. Louis, and my new wife has to get here safe. I know we're hiring a wagonmaster and sending fellows to represent the town, but I think we need to send someone with this money we can all trust. An upright man. A good man. A man who can get the job done. There's one man I trust with most of my savings and with her, and that's Yash."
"What?" Yash sputtered.
"Alright! Who's for sending Yash with the money and to protect the ladies coming back? Show of hands?" the mayor called.
They voted, and before he could protest...he was going to St. Louis. Golden eyes glared at Howie...and the man looked unrepentant behind his spectacles.
"I know you'll get her here, Yash."
"Hell yeah! We can trust you to do it," Frank Tomlin beamed to cheers. The agreement from everyone made him incredibly uncomfortable. But it was true. He wouldn't let them down. They'd welcomed him, given him a place. If they were willing to entrust their savings and their women to him, he'd die before they failed to arrive as promised.
"Then I think Howie here ought to be one of the representatives," Yash said sharply, and the motion carried to laughter. But to his surprise-Roker was put forward as the other representative. Maybe it was because he was so slick, they figured he'd see anything sneaky if the agent tried cheating them. Had to be it, he decided.
Later, Yash oversaw the not so small fortune as it was put in the safe at Sweetwater Bank. The mayor and the town banker both were relieved to see it tucked away.
"Hey, Mayor Barnes," Yash began unhappily.
"Yash? Why so formal?" Phil asked, surprised.
"Well...when they get here, I'll be going."
"Going? Where?"
"Eh-the town's changing. It'll be time to go is all. But I'll get the women here," he answered, and then went home to his two room cottage.
When he did, the banker and the mayor sighed. While the entire town was looking forward to this...there was a problem. A big problem in a red coat and a black hat that covered his ah...ears.
They were all right with a demon sheriff. Out here, it didn't matter much, there was little time for niceties or worrying about things like that. He was a respected and valued member of the community. But they weren't sure their new womenfolk would be happy about it. So they'd meddled. Just a little. A plan they really, really hoped was going to work. Because without Yash, this place would still be a rough little camp with shoot outs and brawls all the time, just one with buildings.
"It's for his own good," Mr. Aberdeen said finally.
"That it is. Ours too. This town owes that man," a glance, "do you think Roker can pull it off?"
"I think so. He handled the arrangements with Mr. Carter. Even said he got a good picture of Yash like the agent wants from us all to make sure the right man gets a wife," the Banker answered.
"A picture? He won't sit for one for nothing."
"Yep. I didn't ask how he got it, but Roker is the only man for that kind of job."
"The only man for this one, too."
In St. Louis a few days later, a plump man was sighing as he went though his files. A little town in Arizona Territory was seeking brides. It wasn't that unusual, really. But John Carter prided himself on quality service, and he had a problem, a custom order, as it were.
Two Oriental women. Japanese preferred. He'd placed ads seeking them, and hoped. While he had several fine women lined up for the others, the two Oriental girls were making him worry. He hated refunding money! It was bad for his reputation.
Then he saw a young woman in a worn but clean dress standing outside on the bustling street and peering into his office window. Biting her lip and looking scared to death, clutching a newspaper. Ah hah! Ah hah, indeed! Mr. Carter heaved his portly frame out of his chair and headed out to intercept her before she wandered off from nerves.
When the door to the street opened, Kagome jumped.
"Hello, young lady. May I help you?" he asked.
"Uh-yes. I mean no-I-" she blushed and he smiled.
"Come in, please. You speak English, I take it?"
"Yes, sir," she nodded.
"Well then, that makes things easy enough. Come on in," she was ushered past a clerk working at paperwork in the front half of the place, into a partitioned off office lined with wooden file cabinets and a large desk. He settled her into a hard wooden chair in front of it and took the well padded leather and wood one behind the desk.
"My name's John Carter, miss. Welcome to the Carter Bridal Agency. Now, what's your name?"
"Higurashi Kagome."
"Pretty name, Higurashi. Unusual first name."
"No! No, um, Kagome Higurashi. At home, our family name comes first. Japan," she answered with an embarrassed smile.
"Ahhhh. I see. Kagome's lovely sounding as well. Now, Miss, I'm a bridal agent. Do you understand what I do here?" Mr. Carter asked.
"You...find wives for men. For money."
"That's right. The gentleman signs a contract and sends me the money, and you sign it as well. All it says is you agree to marry the gentleman for the money offered. I take a percentage for putting you together. Then you go on to a new, happy life together," his hands clasped as he spoke.
"Why-why do they do this?" Kagome asked. She'd wondered about this ever since she saw the advertisement when looking for work and the idea hit her. Dowries paid to a husband she understood, not the reverse! But there it was in the paper she held, that a friend had read out for her.
"Carter Bridal Agency seeking Japanese or Oriental Ladies of good family to travel west as brides. Eight hundred dollars paid up front and all travel expenses. Serious inquiries only," and his office address.
"Well, plenty of good men have made lives for themselves out west, but there's very few women in some parts. So they've settled, they have maybe a business, maybe a farm or a ranch, but there's no women to make their lives less lonely. No family to come home to or send for, but it's the same idea. They're just sending for a wife. An arranged marriage. You're familiar with that, right?" he asked, and she nodded.
"I see. Not-prostitutes?" she barely got the word out.
"No! No. No wonder I've had such trouble finding Oriental ladies if you thought that. No. They have to marry you. I deal in wives only. That other one's against the law, and I play straight," Mr. Carter answered with a kind smile.
"Oh. I'm glad."
Glad? She looked about ready to fall over in relief! Poor kid. Must be damned desperate if she came thinking that. Granted, that happened, agents selling off girls to brothels and camp or mine owners to work as company whores. But Carter had a good reputation in his line of work for a reason.
"I can understand your worry. I can't tell you how glad I am you're here, Kagome-may I call you Kagome?"
"Sure."
"A Japanese girl. Wonderful. You see, there's a lovely little town called Sweetwater, Kagome. It's in Arizona. Do you know where that is?"
"Yes. The far west," her hand waved that way, and he smiled.
"Good. Well, they were a mining camp in the mountains. But now they've got a fine, proper town, but no women. So the whole town's gotten together to arrange brides. All of them! Most are easy enough, but I got a letter...hang on," Mr. Carter rose and went to a cabinet, pulling out a letter and coming back. "Here we are. From a Mr. Kinjo. Seems there are two Japanese gentlemen seeking wives, and let me tell you, it's not an easy thing to find them! So I put in the advertisements, and here you are," Mr. Carter looked delighted. He was, really. She was pretty enough, healthy looking, and was the right age.
"But we get the money? The paper said eight hundred dollars," Kagome asked. She held up the paper nervously. Kinjo. It really was a Japanese name, then. That would ease Mother's worry when she found out about this little plan of her only daughter's.
"You do. But you have to go and you have to marry him in a legal marriage. If you don't, you've broken the contact, and there are penalties. Jail even, for fraud if you're already married or something like that. Do you understand that?"
"If there's that much money-I'll go," Kagome told him grimly.
"This is wonderful! We have a few things to settle though," Mr. Carter explained, pulling out a sheet of paper and a contract from a fat file labeled 'Sweetwater' he got from another cabinet. He asked questions and she answered...her age, her address, any illnesses, all sorts of things.
"Good, good. You aren't engaged or married? Promised?"
"No," a headshake.
"Good. Sometimes I get girls who are engaged to a man they don't care for, and their angry menfolk show up at my door. Now, you have a choice. First come, first serve, eh? I've a Mr. Kinjo and a Mr. Minemoto. I think I said that right...ah, here we are. Mr. Kinjo owns a saloon, and why, huh. Mr. Minemoto is the town sheriff," two photos were removed from the file and set down.
She peered at them. One of a man with short black hair and earrings, dressed in a rich suit with a certain wicked gleam in his eyes that made her suspicious at first sight. The other was of a dazed looking man with long black hair that seemed to have been taken at night. He was in shirtsleeves. He also looked drunk.
Miroku had to go with desperate measures to get him to sit for it.
Kagome gulped. This was going so fast! Here she was about to pick a husband from a picture! But...was it any worse then if her father had lived long enough to choose for her? Besides, they needed the money. No choice. So she looked again.
"Er...a saloon is a bar. But, a sheriff? Like in the stories with outlaws? Rustlers?" Kagome asked. Mr. Carter chuckled, but not unkindly. She looked a bit embarrassed, and he shook his head.
"Those are stories! He's just a policeman like we have here in St. Louis. A very respectable job. Well paying too, if he could afford the money to bring you to him. Or a saloon! A bar, yes, but out west they're quite profitable, I promise! Most have hotels attached, very profitable indeed. Why, either man would be an excellent choice for a young lady like yourself."
"Oh. Well...that one," she said at last, tapping the photo of the drunk.
If he drank, she'd manage. Besides, she'd had quite enough cleaning up after strangers working as a laundress. This Kinjo was likely looking for a maid, laundress, and a wife all in one if he owned a hotel and a bar.
"Mr. Minemoto then. I don't suppose you know another lady like yourself who might be interested? If so, I would pay you for getting her to come in and sign on. Say...twenty dollars right in your hand on top of the fee. Serious girls only, though! No one who'd back out, or I'll have that fee back."
"You would?" Kagome all but pounced. A nod.
"I take it you're interested? Excellent. Let's have you sign here," he asked, and pushed the papers over while inking a pen. She paused, and he frowned.
"Er-you can't write?"
"I can't read English...or write it. I can write in my own language," Kagome answered.
"Ah. Well, make your mark there and there. I want to make sure this is legal, and the courts know a witnessed mark well enough. Sign that, and you've a fine husband waiting for you in Sweetwater," he called the clerk in to be the other witness and they signed it. The deed was done.
Author's notes-Woo! We are off! Finally, some currently being written stuff for you guys here at FF. My first stab at a western. I chose one of the great classic western stories, the mail order bride. It was actually quite common in the day, heck, it still happens now. You'll note this is before Arizona's silver rush and post Civil War, soon after Japan opened to the west. I've tried to really stick with as much period feel as possible in both dialogue and details. Where I don't, I'll do my best to note it here.
Now, yes, I did indeed use a nasty slur. I admit it, and if you were offended, I apologize. I think anyone sane knows that this is not somehow a reflection of the attitudes of yours truly. This is a historical piece, and I have no intention of sanitizing things in the name of PC-ness in this story. There will be sexism, religious issues, swearing, violence, and all manner of things. That said, saddle up, and please enjoy the ride. Thanks for Reading!- Namiyo
