Stagecoach

Chapter 4

Heat, dust and sweat. People forget about the discomforts of summer once they got to their hotel room or the safety of their own home. For the shotgun rider there was no such relief. Riding shotgun on a stage run was not a pleasant way to earn a living – not that it paid well enough to actually enable a body to live. Jerome Burton had been doing this job for about a year now and was getting no closer to having enough money to ask Martha to marry him than he was before he took the job. He must have been crazy. Sitting up here in the heat of summer, cold of winter even through the torrential downpours that came in springtime, that was all part of this job that he thought would quench his urge to travel. Add to all the physical discomforts and the likelihood of getting killed if bandits attacked the stage, it was a wonder there was anyone willing to take on the job at all. The drivers got paid a lot better and sometimes got tips from a passenger for making good time, but no one ever thought to tip the shotgun.

He was supposed to be alert, watching for any sign that road agents might be in the vicinity, but even as the bumps and sways of the box he was sitting on jarred his spine, his mind was far away. At twenty-five years of age he should be doing something better than this, something where people respected him more, something that would enable him to have money in his pocket, enough money so that he could ask Martha to marry him and enough money to buy a home for her.

This run had started in Salina two days ago, and they were headed for Dodge City by way of Hays. So far they had changed drivers twice, but the company figured a shotgun didn't have to do much – just sit there and watch, so he had to ride the whole trip to earn his pay.

In about another ten minutes they would arrive at Tall Trees relay station where they would stop for at least two hours to give the passengers a break and the driver chance to check the stagecoach for any damage from the road. They had a full coach with six inside and one poor latecomer cowboy who was riding on the roof –of course he only had to pay half fare for that privilege. Two of the men riding inside were about his age, they were both well dressed and had money in their pockets. He wanted to be like that.

Once they were inside the station he got to eat a meal of beans and some kind of meat that the company paid for, then he was pretty much on his own. He did not want to go help the driver, feeling that they did not pay him enough to be out there checking axles and harness. The driver could well do that on his own.

He was standing by the door plunging a dipper into a bucket of drinking water when one of the two well-dressed men came to talk to him. After a few pleasantries the stranger invited him to come and play a hand or two of poker. "Not for big stakes," the man had emphasized, "just a little something to help us pass the time."

Jerome learned that their names were Mort Chalfont and Ben Walker.

They sat at the same small greasy table where everyone who passed through this dust hole ate and drank, and Mort produced a deck of cards from an inside coat pocket. The other passengers had left the building and were sitting in the relative cool of the front porch.

The cards were cut and dealt. Much to his amazement Jerome picked up his hand to find a pair of jacks already dealt to him. He finished up that first round with a pair of aces and a pair of Jacks. He had never been lucky at cards and could not believe his good fortune, by the time the driver called everyone to board again, he had $50.00 dollars in his pocket that he hadn't had an hour ago and the two men were slapping him on the back and telling him what a great poker player he was. He had never had fifty dollars in his whole life and wondered how long his luck would last. He knew there were a number of saloons in Dodge City where high stakes poker was played and maybe he could join a game and make some big time money after all.

They left Tall Trees station and headed southwest towards Dodge about a five hour ride ahead with only one short stop on the way to change horses.

As usual the driver sped up as they rounded the curve into Dodge City's Front Street and whipped up the dust and dirt as he pulled up right in front of the depot. Jerome never understood the need for all that showmanship.

His work was over for this ride and he left the driver to hand down bags and such to the passengers while he went into the depot office to deliver the mail bag and sign off on the trip.

Jerome had got himself a room at the Dodge House, the company was paying for it, after all, so why sleep in a cheap rooming house? He would have a two-day layover in this town before he rode shotgun once more, on the stage back to Salina. Not much of a life, he thought, riding the same trail back and forth for a miserable paycheck.

He rested for a few hours then started to make his way over to the Texas Trail saloon. He had heard that their beer was the cheapest in town and there were usually some pretty low stakes card games going on. He hadn't gone a dozen steps along the boardwalk when a familiar voice called to him.

"Hey Jerry!" He liked how they had shortened his name from Jerome – he never did like the sound of that, but at the same time, never had the mind to change it. He half turned to see Ben Walker from the stagecoach coming up behind him. Before he had chance to reply the two men he had met at Tall Trees slapped him on the back and propelled him across the street to the Long Branch. Jerome knew this was the 'classiest' place in town and poker hands here demanded high stakes. He started to object but they pushed his objections aside and ushered him on. Once inside Ben sat with him at an empty table while Mort went to the bar and returned with three glasses and a bottle of whisky. The glassware clanked noisily as he set it on the table with a flourish before pulling out a chair for himself.

The whisky was poured and the three men sipped in silence for a few moments, appreciating the effects of the rough liquid as it burned its way across their tongues and down their throats. With it came a sense of relief and relaxation. A few moments passed before Ben Walker drew a pack of cards from his pocket.

"Let's see if you luck still holds," he said grinning towards Jerome.

The young man was excited but a little reticent at the same time, even so, his new friends urged him on and finally he accepted.
The first few hands went well and he began playing with a little more confidence. He was already $100 ahead when Mort Chalfont began upping the ante a little so that in the next hand it cost him more to stay in the game. His confidence grew and overcame his caution when he drew three cards and finished up with a straight, beating out Mort's three of a kind and Ben Walker' pair of tens.

He won $60 dollars that time and, despite the voice inside him that kept saying this should not be happening, he kept playing. It was about the fifth deal that things started to go wrong.

He picked up the five cards he had been dealt and found he had a pair of aces. Pretty good, he thought considering how his luck had been going. He participated in the first round of betting, which somehow turned out to be a little higher than he had been accustomed to, but still, he reminded himself, he was already $160 ahead today alone, so in the end he did not feel too bad about placing the $80 needed to stay in the game, on the table. He drew three cards and got a pair of fives. Two pair was a pretty good hand so he was happy to put down another $50.

Sadly when the cards were shown Mort had a straight with 8 high. Just like that he had lost all but $30 of todays winnings. He wanted to back out before another round was dealt, but somehow he let himself be talked into trying his luck again. The whisky and the camaraderie of his new friends convinced him it would be bound to come back and pushed his caution aside. Ben even agreed to lend him some money so he could continue. He knew he shouldn't do it, but the feeling he had felt when he won those first two rounds was something he had never known before and he wanted to feel it again. Against his better judgment he continued and before long found himself owing Ben Walker $500.00.

"I have to stop," he told the two gamblers, "I don't have any more money."

"Maybe you can get an advance on your wages," Bill suggested, "you owe me $500.00 and I can't let you just walk away from that."

With what Jerome earned it would take several months to pay back that amount of money – even if he didn't eat."

"I'll pay you back, I promise, but it will take a while."
"I can't let you just walk out of here owing me that money, maybe you can borrow it from someone else and pay them back gradually, I need my money now."

Jerome noticed that Walker and Chalfont had both were keeping their eyes on one of the saloon girls. Chalfont had called her to their table a time or two to order more whisky. He had tried to get his hands on her more than once but she had deftly avoided his touch, to which he had laughed.

"Tell you what, Jerry, I'm your friend and I think I have a way you can earn that money real easy. Just one quick job and the debt will be gone. Shouldn't even take you an hour. Just come on outside with me and I'll explain to you."

The three men left the saloon and walked across the street to the Dodge House. They went up to Mort Chalfont's room where Jerome found himself sitting on the bed, glass of whisky in hand, facing his two former card playing friends. He was almost shaking in his boots, knowing that any job paying $500 for an hours work was probably on the wrong side of the law, and he had been in Dodge enough times to know who the law was in this town.

Ben looked at the young man, visibly shaking, as he sat on the bed in front of him.

"C'mon now Jerry it ain't that bad, ain't even against the law." He filled a whisky glass and handed it to the shotgun rider. Jerome took a swallow to calm his nerves somehow he didn't believe that, but was prepared to listen. Walker continued.

"See, my friend Mort here has his eyes on that red headed saloon girl back there," he pointed vaguely across the street, "but there are always too many people around in the Long Branch for her to spend any time with him. You understand don't you that he needs a little time to talk to her – let her know what a generous upstanding fellow he is, then he's sure she'd stay around and get to know him better. Right now – well she doesn't have time to sit and talk to him."

"So what is it you want me to do?"
"Just kind of get her away from the place for a few minutes, like get her to come out into the alley," he was pacing the floor now finger to his face as if he was thinking this up on the spur of the moment. "Yeh that's all you have to do – get her to come out into the alley so Mort can meet her, then the $500 is a thing of the past."

Ben had beckoned Jerome to come to the window and was pointing across the street to an alleyway that ran alongside the Long Branch.

"Why don't you do it, why ask me?" Jerome looked away from the scene below and walked back towards the bed. He did not really trust these men and was sure there was more to it than Ben was saying.

"She's ..er.. seen me around too often, won't listen to me, We both think you would have a much better chance," Mort added to the conversation.

"I don't know, supposing she won't listen to me. I don't know how to talk to women."

"Come on now," Mort continued, "you really don't have anyway to pay back this debt and we can't let you walk out on it, much as we'd like to. Word gets around you know and every body would be trying to take us for a few hundred dollars here and there. Pretty soon we'd be broke. Seriously you don't have much choice – and once you've got her out there in the ally you can leave – forget all about it."

"Well supposing she still won't talk to you," Jerome was searching for straws now, "what then? Am I still out of debt?"

"You get her to step outside into the alley and the $500 is forgiven – that's all there is to it. Of course you can't tell anyone else about our deal – everyone would want such an easy way out of debt."

Jerome thought the deal over in his head. What harm could there be in it. Mort just wanted to talk to the lady, that couldn't hurt anything. He had been in Dodge several times before and had noticed that the Marshal and the red headed lady were good friends, possibly more than that, but he had to admit he had never seen any indication of anything more serious. He often saw the tall lawman propping up the bar next to her, or seated at the table alongside her. He really doubted that Mort had a hope of catching her interest – but that was not his problem. All he – Jerome – had to do was to get her out into the alley. Surely he could do that for $500. Of course he wouldn't want to be in Mort's shoes if the Marshal found out he was interested in the lady – but that was not his problem either. He'd do it.

"I'll do it after the lunch time crowd tomorrow," he finally told his gambler friends. I will be riding shotgun on the stage out of here at 3 o'clock so that will give me plenty of time."
The two men he was talking with exchanged glances – that would work fine for them. "Just one thing Jerry," Ben was looking straight at him so that Jerome could feel those hard cold eyes almost piercing his heart, "you do your job and get her out there then leave, no looking back or anything, just disappear and forget it ever happened, after all Mort here doesn't want to be embarrassed if she turns him down."

That sounded perfect – he didn't want to hang around anyway. He would check out of his room and have his stuff stashed at the stage depot – that way once he had cleared his debt he would be gone. He thought he would never want to come back to Dodge or see a deck of cards again. Luck was indeed a ficle mistress.

TBC