CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Much to Hank's surprise, Clarice was in the boarding house kitchen when he returned, eating a bowl of Mrs Brady's soup and chatting to the older woman. It seemed Clarice had advised she and Hank were planning to leave Denver within a few weeks and Mrs Brady immediately softened towards the girl in the knowledge that she didn't have to put up with her for much longer.
Clarice remained in a better temper for a while and was even pleasant to Myra when Hank took her with him the next day to meet the young girl at the café. Hank had drawn up a suitable contract of employment stating that Myra would work for him for five years, helped with the wording by Clarice. Myra signed it with a cross since she couldn't write her own name. The three ate supper together and then Hank and Clarice returned to the boarding house.
"She's a sweet girl," Clarice said. "How old is she?"
"Seventeen."
"Did she tell ya she's a virgin?" she asked then.
"Yeah."
"Well, let me give ya some advice. Ya'll get a good price for her the first time, but after that ya better make sure she learns fast or ya'll get complaints."
"What're ya sayin'?" frowned Hank.
Clarice shrugged. "Just that ya better get somebody to show her the ropes."
"I thought you'd give her some tips."
"Ain't my job, you're gonna be the boss."
"Well, what're ya gonna be doin' then? Loungin' about like the Queen of Sheba?" demanded Hank.
"No, I'm gonna be raisin' your kid!" Clarice snapped and stalked off ahead towards the boarding house.
"Damn you," muttered Hank under his breath. Her good humour hadn't lasted long. He found that he couldn't wait to set off on his trip looking for their future home. Maybe a few days away from her would do them good.
Soon enough it was Thursday and Hank heaved a sigh of relief as he loaded up the horse with the things he needed and got ready to set off. Clarice had barely spoken to him in the last few days and he hadn't felt like making much effort to appease her. However, as he strapped his bedroll to the back of the horse's saddle she appeared, looking pale and tired.
"Hank, I'm sorry I'm such lousy company," she said. "I guess I still ain't got my head around bein' pregnant and I'm sick as a dog most days."
"Things'll be better when we get outta Denver." Hank turned away from the horse and looked down at her.
"Yeah, I guess so. I'm gonna miss ya while yer gone." She stepped closer and slid her arms around him. "I do love ya; I'm just fed up of feelin' like hell."
"Love you too." Hank gave her a hug and kissed the top of her head. "I'll see you in a few days." He drew away after a minute and swung into the horse's saddle and Clarice stood back, watching as he rode away.
Hank arrived in Manitou early on Friday evening. Exhausted from the journey and a poor night's sleep under a tree along the way, he decided to have dinner and spend the night in the hotel there, then look around the next day. The next morning he questioned a couple of people over breakfast about the facilities in the town and discovered that it was a busy and thriving place. He spent a good part of the day wandering about and discovered a large saloon there, with at least half a dozen girls serving drinks and flirting with the customers. Maybe not such a good idea to set up in competition – he wanted to make money, not fight with the locals.
He stayed one more night and set off again as the sun rose on Saturday, deciding to head for Colorado Springs. One of the hotel staff indicated it was just ten miles away and at present was little more than a struggling village. There was nothing to keep the passing trade; they all moved right onto Manitou.
When Hank rode into the little settlement, it seemed like it was deserted. Not a soul was in sight, but as he approached the long building which said 'Bray's Mercantile' on the front, a few faces began to appear, staring curiously at the newcomer. A middle-aged couple stepped out of the large store and watched as Hank rode up and he could see a young man of around his own age leaning against the railing outside a barber's shop. A few others watched from outside another small building which could have been some kind of bar.
Hank halted in front of the couple and jumped to the ground.
"'Mornin'," he said, removing his hat and nodding at the lady. She smiled at once.
"'Mornin'," the man replied. "What we can we do for ya?"
"I was wonderin' if there's a place to stay 'round here," Hank said.
"Nah, yer outta luck. Ain't no hotel or boarding house here. I got plenty of supplies though, if yer runnin' short. Name's Loren Bray. This is my wife, Maude."
"Nice to meet ya." Hank reached out and shook the older man's hand. "Hank Lawson. Ya stock cigars?"
"Why, sure! Come on inside!" exclaimed Loren at once, obviously keen to make a sale. Hank humoured him and bought cigars, apples and a bag of oats for his horse, meanwhile asking more questions.
Loren informed him that plenty of people passed through – cattle drovers, travellers, people looking for a new home, but few of them stopped when they saw how lacking in facilities Colorado Springs was. The town held less than a hundred families and didn't show much sign of growing. Hank refrained from asking whether there was a saloon, not wanting to offend Mrs Bray. He grinned wrily to himself, thinking that he had obviously retained some manners from his upbringing. He paid for the items, loaded them onto the horse and then wandered across the street towards the barber's shop where the young guy in his fancy shirt and vest, a pocket watch tucked in the vest pocket, was still staring his way and pretending not to.
"Hey," said Hank. "This your shop?"
"Yeah. Passin' through?"
"Maybe." Hank tied his horse to the railing and stepped up onto the porch. "Hank Lawson." He offered his hand and the barber shook it slowly.
"Jake Slicker. Where ya from?"
"Denver."
"Long way from home," Jake commented.
"Yeah. Ya got a saloon here?" asked Hank.
"If ya can call it that. Lookin' for a woman?" Jake grinned now.
"Nah. Got my own." Hank glanced over at the rough-looking little building which Jake had indicated; the one he had thought might be a bar. "Who's the owner?"
"Guy named Murphy. Why you interested?"
"Lookin' for a place to set up. Ya wanna go get a whiskey on me? I could use some information."
"Sure!" Jake flipped the sign on his door over to show 'closed' and locked the door. "Let's go."
Hank left his horse outside the barbers and the pair walked to the saloon, watched suspiciously by Loren Bray as they passed. Hank ordered a couple of large whiskies and paid while Jake found a table in one corner. Hank eyed the room as he waited for the drinks; small, cramped, scruffy, a wide bar and perhaps seven or eight tables, a door leading through to a narrow corridor. Two rather past their prime girls flirted half-heartedly with some of the customers and the barkeep himself was red-faced and bleary eyed, clearly drinking most of his profits.
"Ya get much trade passin' through?" asked Hank, sitting down opposite Jake and passing him one of the drinks. He sipped his own and grimaced as he discovered it was watered down to the point of weakness.
"Some. Ain't much here to keep 'em interested. Guess ya saw the mercantile. We got a blacksmith and livery and a telegraph office aside from this place. Ain't much else."
It was the same story as the one he'd got from Loren. Hank nodded thoughtfully.
"Folks'd probably stick around if there was some decent entertainment. Not to mention decent liquor," he said.
Jake grinned. "Thinkin' of providin' some?"
"Might do. Looks like there's plenty of room to expand this place. My girls are much younger and prettier too."
"How many ya got?" asked Jake eagerly.
"Two so far," he said although he intended there to be two not including Clarice by the time they moved.
"I'm guessin' old man Murphy'd sell out without much persuasion," said Jake. He eyed Hank's expensive-looking coat and silk necktie. "Ya look like ya got money."
"Yeah, but I ain't plannin' on spendin' too much of it. Murphy play poker?"
"Sure. Beats most folks too."
Hank smirked. "He might have trouble with me."
"He don't like to get beat."
"He ain't gonna like me then. Reckon I can get him to wager this place?"
"Most likely. Might shoot ya though, if ya win."
Hank raised one eyebrow and pulled his coat aside to show Jake the gun strapped to his hip.
"You a good shot?" the barber said under his breath.
"Better than most."
Jake grinned. "So when ya gonna challenge him to a game? Sounds like we could use someone like you in this town."
"No time like the present. Hey! Murphy, is it? We'll have some more whiskies over here, thanks," Hank called out.
"Sure," grunted the old man and rounded the bar, a bottle of watered down liquor in his hand. He poured generous measures for both men.
"Passin' through?" he asked Hank.
"Maybe. Might think of stickin' around. Ya play poker?"
"Fancy tryin' yer luck, do ya?" Murphy grinned toothlessly and pulled a pack of cards out of his pocket. "What about you, Jake?"
"Nah, I'll sit this one out," said Jake.
"Scared ya'll lose?" Hank teased, winking.
"Ain't got much to spare right now."
"Yeah, ya drank every penny ya had Friday," Murphy said.
Jake scowled, but didn't respond to this. Hank glanced at him sceptically. A man who liked his liquor a little too much, maybe?
"So, where ya from?" Murphy asked Hank, beginning to shuffle the cards.
"Denver."
"Ya don't talk like a city fella," the old man mused. "What d'ya want in a dead-end little town like this?"
"New opportunities." Hank pulled a cigar out and lit it, then after a moment's hesitation offered cigars to his two companions. Jake took one, but Murphy declined.
Jake leaned back in his chair now, smoking and sipping his whiskey as he watched the poker game. It started with low stakes, but grew rapidly, drawing the remainder of the bar's customers to cluster around, interested in the outcome. Hank was winning and Murphy's toothless grin had quickly been replaced by a scowl. Most of the men in the bar watched Hank curiously, the out-of-towner's face relaxed and unreadable as he glanced at the cards hidden against the front of his coat. Another twenty minutes passed and Murphy was down to his last few bills, his face now red and angry as he watched the last month's takings from the bar dwindle. He threw his final ten dollars into the pile. Hank matched it and added another twenty.
"I'm done," Murphy muttered.
"What about this place?" Hank asked slowly.
"What about it?"
"Wanna wager it or are ya gonna quit and let me take all yer money?" He grinned and raised his eyebrows.
Murphy's eyes narrowed and he stared back at Hank for a long moment, then looked down at his cards once again.
"It's worth more than the cash on the table," he said. "What ya got to cover it if ya lose?"
"Another hundred and my horse," said Hank.
"I'd keep the horse, fella," a voice came from the group of men watching. "This shack's about ready to fall down."
A number of men chuckled and then fell silent quickly as Murphy looked up and glared at them.
"Alright. The bar," he said to Hank. "Let's see yer cards."
Hank dropped the remains of his cigar into his whiskey glass, lowered one hand to his lap just in case he needed to go for his gun and then laid the cards on the table; three Kings and two tens. Murphy tossed his cards down, scowling at Hank; he had a flush, meaning Hank won.
"Ya cheated," Murphy said.
"I ain't no cheat," Hank growled. Not since Lillian had died for it.
Murphy glanced down briefly, pulling his gun free of its holster, but when he raised his head Hank's gun was already aimed at him, just a fraction above the table.
"Don't even think about," Hank said. "I won fair and square and if yer finger gets even a quarter inch closer to that trigger, I'll blow it off."
No one else spoke and the watching men backed away a few feet as if expecting trouble. Jake stayed where he was, but his eyes flicked nervously from Hank to Murphy and back again.
"Damn you," Murphy muttered, pushing his chair back and hauling himself to his feet. Hank merely grinned and sat watching him.
"Alright." The old man reholstered his gun with a sigh. "Ya gonna give me some time to find a place to go?"
"Ya got a week or two," Hank said. "I gotta get back to Denver and fetch my girls."
"Got two of 'em here," Murphy pointed out.
"Take 'em with ya." Hank put his own gun away, gathered up the money on the table and got to his feet. "They look pretty dried up."
"Yeah, like you, Murphy," one of the customers called out, suddenly bold now that the newcomer was in charge.
"Go to hell," muttered the old saloon owner and headed back behind the bar.
"Guess I'll be goin'," said Hank, looking around at the group of men watching. "You fellas'll soon have a decent place to get a drink and some entertainment."
"Welcome to Colorado Springs," one said and the others nodded approvingly.
"Name's Hank Lawson," said Hank and a couple of the men came forward to shake hands and introduce themselves. Hank exchanged a few words with them and then headed for the door, followed quickly by Jake.
"Thought he was gonna shoot ya," the barber said.
"He wouldn't've got the chance." Hank untied his horse and swung up into the saddle. "Keep an eye on my bar for me. Be seein' ya."
Jake watched as he turned the horse and galloped away into the distance.