Author's Note: This chapter has many historical incidents and inventions. Abe Curry did sell his hotel to be used as prison in Carson City and what happened as far as the fire and rebuilding is also historically accurate as well as finally having a cold beer.

Six ~ Good for What Ails You

The price of a haircut and a shave was now 4 bits but the barber said, as way of consolation, "The witch hazel is no charge." Adam reluctantly paid, remarked that rolling papers and tobacco had cost him the same amount. Adam thought back to when he and Hoss were boys and Hop Sing's haircuts using a bowl as his guide. Adam put on the new black hat manufactured by a company named Stetson; he had ridden to town bare-headed, having left his Hardee hat in his room. Adam had been impressed by the Stetson's construction, worked it and was tempted to pop up the middle and put a crease down the center as he had his Hardee hat but resisted. Instead, while in the mercantile, he added a silver-studded leather hatband for a dollar more along with the smoking paraphernalia for another half dollar.

Adam looked in the barber shop mirror but not in admiration. His lower face was still paler than his upper cheeks and forehead and the bluish sheen left by the close shave stood out even more. He pulled off the hat and again rolled the edges. It would take a while for the felt to keep the shape he desired.

Having ridden a working horse from the Ponderosa into town, Adam first went to the bank where the teller didn't recognize him and was unsure about Adam's request for $300.00. To the teller, this man hardly seemed a member of the Cartwright family and he carried a gun strapped to his thigh. People rarely walked around town with guns anymore except for Sheriff Coffee and Deputy Foster; everyone else left their guns and rifles at home and on Saturday nights, Sheriff Coffee had the visiting ranch hands turn in their guns to avoid drunken arguments settled with a six-gun.

"You say you're Adam Cartwright?" The teller eyed him suspiciously from behind his barred cage. He looked at the other teller who just shrugged his shoulders. "I…you have some identification or anything?"

"No. Just my word that I am who I am." Adam smiled; he knew that with his long hair, being unshaven, and wearing an old, worn jacket of his father's that hung oddly on him, he looked disreputable.

"Okay, Mr. Cartwright…um…please wait just a moment."

Adam nodded, smiled and slid his hands inside the jacket's pockets and waited while the young man left, glancing back at the customer once more before he disappeared in the manager's office. Adam looked about the bank. Not much had changed except for the paint. But the safe looked new, now that he studied it.

Adam looked toward the sound of a door opening. Mr. Huffman, the bank manager, came out and after quickly scrutinizing the stranger before him, suddenly smiled and approached with one hand out to shake Adam's hand. "Good to see you back, Adam, so good. Every time your father would come in to see me, I'd ask about you. He must be happy you're finally home!"

"Yes, yes, he is. It's good to see you too, Mr. Huffman. How's the family?" Social niceties were expected.

"They're well, Adam. Marigold is still unwed, in case that's why you're asking. I'll tell her you're back home. We'll have to have you over for dinner some night."

Adam smiled but remained noncommittal about the invitation. "Business good?"

"It could always be better," Mr. Huffman said, smiling broadly. "There'll be no problem fulfilling your request. By the way, we don't print our own money anymore; there's a mint now in Carson City printing it out, so don't think it's counterfeit!" Mr. Huffman laughed at his joke. "It's good to see you back, Adam.

"Now, Olson, give Adam Cartwright here a new signature card. You'll have no more problems—I promise."

So, with money in his pocket, Adam walked over to the mercantile, ticking off in his mind what he needed to buy. He had forgotten how wonderful it was to be flush with money—and how guilty it made him feel.

~ 0 ~

As Adam walked down the wooden sidewalk, tipping his Stetson to women he passed, he found he recognized no one and no one recognized him; he was a stranger among strangers. And then he heard his name called by a familiar voice. He turned and slowly smiled—it was Roy Coffee.

The familiar face of Sheriff Coffee warmed Adam's heart and then, when he saw how much the man he had admired for so long had aged just as his father had, it gave him pause. He took the Sheriff's large hand in his and the two shook heartily. The sheriff even put one hand on Adam's shoulder, and gazed as he would at a long-lost son.

"I knew Hoss and Joe were lookin' to find you but I didn't know they had. Welcome home, Adam. It's good to see you, boy. I don't suppose you came to Virginia City to visit."

"It's good to see you too, Roy. No, I've only been home one day; needed a haircut, bought a new hat, jacket and wanted new boots." Roy looked down at Adam's boots, noting they were still military issue. "The mercantile didn't have a pair I liked; may have to go to Carson City for them or order them. I planned to stop by the office to see you before I left town."

"Well, come on with me now, sit for a bit and have a cup of coffee. I just finished my rounds and could use some more to brace me for the rest of the day."

Adam smiled, surprising himself by how pleased he was to see Roy Coffee. "Virginia City hasn't become a hotbed for crime, has it?"

"No, but it's not the same place anymore. Let's walk and talk. The war changed a lot of things, a lot of people. Some people like Mr. Denning-you remember him, don't you? Had that green grocers?" Adam nodded. "Well, his son took off to fight for the Confederacy and Denning hung out a Confederate flag. Was arrested along with quite a few people until they learned to keep their alliances to themselves. Confederate sympathizers like Denning were locked up in Fort Churchill. Things during wartime caused some people to move away 'cause they were afraid when martial law was enacted around here. It was something to see armed soldiers patrolling the streets; they even confiscated guns. Why I thought even my job would be eliminated but I was allowed to keep my sidearm. It was a bad time but things are more or less normal again." They had reached the office doors. "C'mon in, son. I already got a pot on the stove." Roy Coffee held the door open, glad to see Adam whole and well. If he was this happy to see Adam, Roy could only imagine Ben's joy.

Adam sat in the office across from Roy, a mug of hot coffee in his hands, the chair kicked back on its rear legs. The fire in the stove was going out after taking the chill off the air and the day was turning into a breezy day in spring. The new suede jacket he bought would be overly warm in a few days, only being needed in the early mornings and after sunset.

"Like I said, that Colonel Mansfield holds strategic property and your pa, he can't stand it. I think he's kickin' himself every day for not buying it earlier but it's just scrub, was good for nothin' until now with the railroad comin' through and Carson City bein' the state capitol. Why there's even a prison there now…did you know that?"

"No," Adam replied. "When did this happen?"

"Let's see…musta been about 1862." Adam stopped drinking, engrossed. "That hotel in Carson City, the Warm Springs Hotel? Remember that?' Adam nodded. "Well, that became a prison – filled up really quickly too, but Abe Curry who owned it, he was making money hand over fist by leasing it to the government.

"Burned down just last year but the prisoners were put to work rebuilding it—they built their own prison cells—imagine that. Now it's mainly stone—barely any wood. There's that quarry near it. Remember? Well, those prisoners had to quarry the stones for it and then build it; they also built the Nevada State Capitol as well."

Adam leaned back. "What type of prisoners are held there?"

"Oh, all kinds. Other prisons send theirs to Carson City who are to be executed 'cause that's where they do it anymore. And I guess that's why they have a sittin' judge there."

"Judge Wolfe."

"Yeah, Judge Wolfe. He deigns to travel here once a week" Roy said, a tinge of disdain to his voice, "sits court from 10:00 in the mornin' 'til 3:00 in the afternoon every Tuesday. Everything else, Troy Shannon does as Justice of the Peace—you know, the small fines and disputes among people. He decides days in jail and such. Seems that in another year, there's going to be another judge appointed as well in Carson City; it's gettin' as large as Sacramento City or even San Francisco."

"Looks as if Virginia City's getting smaller," Adam said. The mug of coffee warmed his hands as he felt a chill but not from the cold; prisons and executions weighed on him, not that he felt that some men didn't deserve to die for their crimes, but he also felt many men were unfairly judged and summarily dispatched.

"But, Colonel, he was just weary after the battle and the losses…all the men are demoralized. He just wanted to go home. It's understandable that…"

"What's your name, Captain."

Snapping to attention, Adam said, "Captain Cartwright, sir."

"Is private Osteen from your regiment or not?"

"Yes, sir, he is."

"Good. Assign some men to shoot him for desertion."

"But, sir, even President Lincoln prefers imprisonment for deserters rather than shooting them. To kill one of our own men…"

"How many men out of your original 100 do you have left, Captain? That is, minus Osteen."

"78, sir."

"78. You can't afford to lose anymore and neither can I. Desertion won't be tolerated"

"But, sir, I think that shooting him when…".

"Would you rather hang him?"

"No, sir."

"Then you have your orders, don't you, Captain?" And Colonel Mansfield walked away.

"Seems it is. Not as many new shingles hung out and once Paul leaves, I don't know we'll even have a doctor anymore. Hope we will but the way things are going…well, Mayor Baxter, he's trying to promote how close we are to Carson City; a person could work there and live here since it costs more to live in the capital."

Adam chuckled and then sitting forward and putting all four legs of his chair flat, finished his coffee. He stood up. "Thanks, Roy. The whole country's changing; Virginia City's changing like everything else—it's to be expected."

Roy Coffee stood as well and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm havin' trouble with it, Adam. I am. Must be 'cause I'm just old. Seems like you've changed a mite though; you've dropped a bit of weight and seem a lot more peaceable. Guess fighting for so long'll do it to a man."

Adam smiled. "Yeah, that'll do it."

"Tell your pa hello for me, Adam."

"I will. Come by for dinner some time," Adam said and shaking Roy's hand again, walked out into the sunshine. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scents around him, of horses and leather and fresh baked bread from the little bakery down the street. "That's progress - store-bought bread. Just like back east."

The sounds were the same though; the jangling of the horse harnesses as the wagons moved mainly to McCauley's Feed and Grain, the pounding from the blacksmith's shop and livery…life went on, and it would have, Adam considered, even if he had died in the mud of a bloody battle field. And with that thought, Adam walked to The Sazerac.

Pushing through the swinging doors. Adam looked about; it hadn't changed, only the people had. He didn't recognize the bartender, a man in his 40's who wore a clean white shirt, sleeve garters and a canvas apron. Adam went to the bar and put one foot on the rail. "Beer."

Without a word, the bartender pulled a bottle and mug from a large, metal box with a door, and placed the mug in front of Adam, opened it and then poured the beer from a brown-tinted bottle.

"Well, this is new…and what the hell is that?" Adam asked as he put coins on the bar and pulled out the rolling papers and tobacco.

"Nifty, ain't it?' the bartender said, smiling and looking at the box. "Called an ice box. Man from Carson City, Newman's his name, sold it to us; has an ice house. He also brings cases of bottled beer made by some German in Milwaukee that's shipped in double-walled cars. He comes by with fresh ice and beer every day; packs it in sawdust and somehow that keeps the ice cold. There's a trough in the bottom of that box that catches the water. He says one day, they'll be big enough to keep all sorts of things cold. Maybe soon, he said, ever'body'll have one in their homes keepin; all sorts of food cold. Claims he'll be a millionaire then."

"I don't doubt it," Adam said, gripping the cold glass handle and taking his first sip of a cold beer.

"Good for what ails you, ain't it?"

"Among other things," Adam said. "That's damn good."

"Yeah. In the middle of summer, I'll probably crawl in there myself to keep cool." Adam chuckled as he finished rolling his cigarette. He pulled a match from a shot glass holding them and striking it on the side of the bar, lit up. "You passin' through?" the bartender asked. It was early in the day and the only other customer was an old man playing cards with the bored barmaid. A little conversation would be nice.

"No," Adam said. "My family's here and I came home."

"For a visit or to stay?" The man wiped the bar with a rag although the only mess was a slight water ring from the beer mug.

Adam was disinclined to answer but he figured he may as well appear gregarious; he was in a saloon. "I haven't decided yet." He downed the remainder of his beer, grinned at the bartender and said, "Thanks for the beer," and walked out with his cigarette. He stood on the sidewalk. He needed something and as he gazed down the street, he knew just what it was. He tossed his cigarette in the street, mounted his horse and rode down to the most notorious part of Virginia City, the outskirts where respectable women and men never trod.

Although it was barely past noon, scantily clad women stood on the balconies of the various brothels and called out to him as he rode by; a few even pulled open their wraps to tempt him with their breasts but Adam rode by them, gazing up at the display of female flesh. He knew where he was going and what he wanted; a certain woman.

He dismounted and tied his horse to a brass hitching post. The familiar brothel, the best one in Virginia City, hadn't really changed and as he came closer to the double doors, he grinned. The same inlaid stained-glass panels of nude women were in the doors, one showing repairs where an angry wife had tossed a stone years ago. He pushed open the door on the right and stepped into a dim foyer lined with sconces that were lit in the evenings. A young woman came forward from the parlor. She paused, trying to see him in the low light and then smiled. "Can I help you, mister?"

"Is Maeve here?"

"No. Sorry, mister. She died 'bout two years ago. Some drunk miner beat the shit outta her and she died. Doc said it was from a ruptured…well, I can't remember exactly, but it was somethin' inside a person that was busted open in her. Odell grabbed that sonovabitch and pulled him down the stairs by one ankle, and the man's head hit every step hard; he died before he could be even tried. Business was bad for a while after all that."

Adam sighed. "I'm sorry about Maeve." In the past, Adam had often asked for Maeve, depending on his mood; she always understood what he needed. The young woman standing before him was in her late 20's, full-breasted with round thighs. "Are you busy?" Adam asked. There was no use grieving over Maeve, but she always knew when to talk to him and when not to as they lay together after the act. Once, Maeve had mentioned quitting the business and finding another way to earn money. While slipping on his boots, Adam off-handedly suggested she marry some customer who was fond of her. Maeve, running a hand up his back, asked if "it might could be you?" Adam never mentioned it again. He was fond of Maeve – she was pretty and clean and he enjoyed it when they were together, but he didn't want to marry her.

A large man stepped out of the parlor and looked Adam over, the "peacekeeper", Odell, but stepped back into the parlor. Five other women, all dressed the same way in corsets, rolled-up stockings and short pantaloons, peeked out from the parlor. A large, blowsy woman smiled knowingly.

One of the other women said, "Not much business right now. All of us are free." She thrust out one hip, resting her hand on it and smiled. "We can give you a special price."

"Just one is all I need," Adam said, and beckoning to the woman who had first approached him, he said, "You'll do fine." He took her wrist and together they climbed the stairs. She pointed out her small room facing the back.

Once inside, the woman said, "I'm Louanne. What's your name, mister?" Adam sat on the side of the bed and began to remove his boots. She pulled her chemise over her head.

"Does it matter?" he asked, dropping a boot and then working off the other.

"Not really. Those army boots? Saw a pair like that once on a man who lost an arm in the war—said it was chopped off to keep from spreadin' gangrene. Said that woulda killed him but he missed his arm. Said he still felt like he had it sometimes and used to try to reach for somethin' with it. Made things kinda problematic far as visitin' here but we managed. I'm always…"

"Louanne," Adam said, turning to look at her, "I'll throw in an extra two dollars if you'll just shut up."

He dropped the other boot and stood up and began to work his trouser buttons.

"Just makin' conversation. Makes things a little more friendly." The dark-haired man said nothing so she shrugged, went to the bed and lay down still wearing her soft lambskin boots; many men liked them, liked to fondle them as well as her calves and since the boots had such thin soles, they were only for show; they had cost her quite a bit. She watched as he stepped out of his trousers. When he turned, she reached out and ran one finger up the inside of his thigh. Looking up at him she said, "What d'you want?"

Adam knew Louanne wouldn't understand if he said he wanted to wallow in pure carnality, to lose himself in unadulterated sensation. So, all he said was, "Just for you to be quiet."