Tales of the Eerie Saloon: High Noon -- How It All Began

by Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson

© 2001

 

* * * * *

Tuesday, August 22, 1871, Week 5 -- Day 5

"Here's that beer you ordered." Arsenio looked up to see Laura standing next to him at the bar. She was holding two filled steins. "I-I brought one for myself, too, if you don't mind."

"No...no, I don't mind at all," Arsenio pointed to a table. "Why don't we go over there and sit, or don't your feet hurt anymore?"

"No, that -- that was just a temporary thing. Thanks for asking about them, though. I just wasn't...myself last week. I just felt so damned -- so crazy."

"It's okay. You had every right to be upset for what I said that night."

"I was upset all right. Things just had me get so out of sorts I did some pretty dumb things."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Like pick a fight with you." Laura sighed. "You been trying to be a friend to me, Arsenio. I appreciate that, and I would like to be friends with you, if you still want."

"On one condition; you got to forgive me for the way I put my foot in my mouth last Monday."

"Foot," Laura laughed. "Try both feet -- and they was in up to your knees."

Arsenio laughed. "They probably were -- boots and all, too." He offered his hand. "Friend."

"Friend." Laura gave him a vigorous handshake. "There's one last thing now that we're friends again."

"What's that?"

"You owe me a half buck each for those beers."

* * * * *

"Where's Maggie?" Rachel Silverman came bustling into the Saloon. "Where is she?"

"Rachel, Rachel, what's the matter?" Molly hurried over to meet her friend near the door. "Is she in some sort of trouble?"

"Trouble," Rachel said, brushing at her dress. "No, there's no trouble, _kayn aynhoreh_." She made a face as she said the last. "I just...she got a letter. It's from that place down in Mexico you and Shamus have been sending money for her. I figured it was important, so I brought it over." Aaron Silverman's General Store was the official post office for Eerie. He didn't make much money on the operation, but people dropping by to see if they had mail were likely to buy something while they were there.

"She's in the kitchen, as usual," Molly said. "C'mon." The two women walked the length of the room and went through the door to the kitchen.

Maggie was leaning over the stove, checking on something in a large cast iron pot. She dropped in a bit of chopped spices, stirred the mixture twice with a large wooden spoon, and put the lid back on.

"Maggie, there's a letter here for ye," Molly said, taking the large envelop from Rachel.

Maggie wiped her hands on her apron. "A letter? Who is it from?"

Molly looked at the envelop. "I'd say it's from the folks ye been sending that money to for yuir family. It's got the same name and address." She looked again. "But it's addressed to _Miguel_ Sanchez. Don't they know what happened to ye?"

"No. No, they do not." She grabbed the envelop from Molly's hand. "Now, please...please leave. I want to read this in...private."

"Me, you don't have to tell twice," Rachel said. She took Molly by the arms and gently pulled her out of the kitchen.

* * * * *

"Rachel Silverman, by all that's holy, aren't ye the least bit curious about that letter?" Molly and Rachel were sitting at a table near the kitchen, sipping some iced saspirilla.

"Of course, I am, Molly," Rachel said. "But didn't you see the look in her eyes? She was desperate for us not to find out anything. I've asked her more than once who the money goes to, but like a stone she gets. My Aaron says be patient. Phah! He's as curious as I am, but he's a man, and he...ahh, you know what they can be like."

"Aye," Molly said. "I suppose ye're right. I'll give her the room, and when she's ready, she'll tell." She looked at the watch pinned to her apron pocket. "Still, it's getting near time to open the restaurant. I'd better see if she'll be needing help getting ready."

The two women rose and walked back to the kitchen. As Molly opened the door, she heard the sound of sobbing from inside. Maggie was sitting on a stool, some papers in her hand, crying and muttering to herself softly in Spanish.

The two women rushed over. "Maggie, what is it?" Rachel asked. "Please, you can tell us."

"It's the letter; it's gotta be," Molly said.

Maggie nodded. "Si, is the letter...and these." She held up some photographs.

Rachel gently took them from Maggie's hand and looked. "Ah, what a little _bondit_ this boy is. And the girl, like a doll. They're yours, no? How old are they?"

Maggie looked up. "Ernesto, the boy, he is six, and Lupe, she just turned four last month."

Molly looked at the photographs. "Ah, that's sweet, Maggie. Ye named the girl after her mama. She's so pretty; yuir wife must be very proud of her -- of the pair of them."

"My wife...my Lupe is dead. Maggie buried her face in her hands and began crying again. "She died not long after Lupe was born. The doctor say something get hurt when she give the birth."

"Oy!" Rachel said. "Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry."

"There...there was no money, no jobs for me down home. I had to sell my land to pay the doctor bills." She was sobbing. "My sister and her husband got three kids of their own, and they say they would take care of Ernesto...of Lupe. I go north, into Tejas to earn money. I can cook, so I do pretty good. Then I get sent to jail." She paused for a breath. "Then...then I come to Eerie."

"Oh, dear," Molly said. "No wonder ye didn't want anyone to know about these babies of yuirs."

"Si, I was afraid of being teased -- or worse. I not even tell when I was a man. Cowboys are not supposed to have little ones, not supposed to care about anybody but the other cowboys they work with."

"So when you saw the pictures..." Rachel said.

"Is more than the pictures. The letter...here I read in English what it say." She took a breath to steady herself and began. "My brother, Miguel, please do not be mad that I used some of the money you send last week to pay for these pictures. The man come through on a wagon, taking pictures for a few centavos. I know how long it been since you see the children."

"The doll Lupe is holding is her special friend, Inez. Lupe loves to sit with Inez under that big tree by my house and tell her all sorts of stories. Sometimes, she almost forgets to come in for supper."

"Ernesto is the tallest of the boys his age. He always running some place or playing at sports. He says that he...he wants to be big and...strong when he grows up just...just like his...pappa." Maggie dropped the letter and began to cry again. "Like his poppa. How can he be strong like his poppa, when his poppa is...when his poppa is his mama now? I...I even cry like his mama, like a weak...woman."

Molly put her arms around Maggie. "It's all right, Maggie. It's all right."

Rachel took Maggie's hand. "Weak, shmeak. Maggie, look at yourself. You've admitted you did wrong and tried to make up for your mistakes. You're working to make yourself a new life. And all the time, you've been taking care of those darlings of yours the best you can. Your Ernesto will be very lucky if he grows up half as _strong_ as you are."

You...you think so?" Maggie asked, wiping her eyes.

"Of course we do," Molly said. "Now, ye tell Rachel and me what needs t'be done in here. Then ye go upstairs and lie down for a half hour or so, till ye feel better. Okay?"

Maggie smiled. "No, no, Señora Molly...Señora Rachel. If I am strong like you say, then I stay here and finish cooking the supper. Okay?"

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked. "My Aaron won't mind if I stay here a little while to help."

Maggie smiled. "You helped. You two helped more than you know. Now go, I got food to cook." She took a breath. "Señora Molly, could you send in Laura. It is her turn to help."

Are ye sure ye're all right," Molly said.

"I am not all right, but I am sure. And...thank you."

* * * * *

Wednesday, August 23, Week 5 -- Day 6

"Slocum's back!" Cap Lewis ran into the Saloon shouting the news. "He sent me into town for the money to pay off his men."

R.J. had a beer ready for him by the time Cap reached the bar. "How soon are you headed back, Cap?"

Cap took a long swallow. "They're putting the money in a strongbox now over at the bank. I got a couple hands over there watching it. When we're ready, one of them'll come get me and the Sheriff, and we'll all ride back out to the ranch together." He took another swallow. "The trail boys should all be paid by suppertime."

Shamus walked over and joined them. "Abner won't let them boys ride in tonight, but he's surely gonna be giving them a day or two to work off a bit of steam after that long trail drive." He smiled at the thought of them money the boys would be bringing with them. "Looks like the weekend will be coming a wee bit early. Thank ye, Cap, oh, and R.J., that beer he's drinking is on the house."

"Thanks, Shamus," Cap said. "Uncle Abner...Mr. Slocum said he was gonna give the men tomorrow off to blow off some steam and Friday morning to recover from it. Of course, most of them'll get to come back Saturday night, too." He finished his beer and decided to head back to the bank. He'd have liked to stay for another, maybe talk to Bridget a little, but if he was late getting back, or, worse, if he came back to the ranch drunk, Slocum -- Uncle Abner -- would skin him alive.

* * * * *

"Shamus, I got here your order." Hans Euler called from the doorway of the Saloon. "Ten barrels of our best beer."

"Take it around back," Shamus called from the bar where he was stacking bottles. "R.J., you go back and help him, would ye."

"Sure, Shamus," R.J. said. He stopped just long enough to hold the door for Bridget, who came in from the kitchen with three trays of beer steins. He smiled at her and headed on to the entrance to the storeroom.

Shamus took the trays from Bridget. "Was that Hans Euler?" she asked.

"He's delivering beer to me and every other saloon and such in town," Shamus said. "That's why he ain't in here to be playing poker with ye. Don't ye be worrying, though; him, Cap, and the rest'll be back tomorrow -- so will a lot of cowboys with money burning a hole in their pockets. And watching ye deal the cards will make the losing of it just a little less painful."

"So there's no poker till tomorrow?" Bridget asked.

"Not till they can ride in from Slocum's, about mid day, I expect, and they'll be none once the dancing starts. Since the whole town'll probably be busy till the cowboys come in to drink, ye can spend more time tomorrow helping Maggie."

"What does she need help with?" Bridget sighed.

"I'll be setting two more tables for 'Maggie's Place' tomorrow night. She'll need extra help getting the food ready, and ye can be a second waitress, too."

* * * * *

"You wanted to see me, Shamus?" Natty Ryland asked. "I expect it's about playing tomorrow night."

"Aye, it is. Them cowboys are gonna be wanting t'dance with me ladies, and I'll be needing music for that."

"Yeah, but I think you'll be needing more music than I can get out of just my fiddle, especially after a busy day of tailoring. They _do_ spend some of that pay of theirs on clothes, you know."

"And what would ye be suggesting, Natty?"

"You know Hiram King and Tomas Rivera, don't you?"

"Aye, what about them?"

"The three of us put together a band. Hiram plays the accordion and Tomas has one of them clarionettes. We drew cards for it, and Hiram's the leader. A three-man band would be a lot classier than just a tired old fiddler."

"Maybe, if it's a good band -- and if the price ain't too high." A haggle, Shamus smiled at the opportunity.

"Oh, we're good -- loud, too. You'll need that with the size of the crowd you're gonna have. And with all those people, you can certainly afford to pay us more, too."

"Like I said, how much more?"

"Let's see. You paid me $3 -- and a beer an hour. With the three of us -- we can play fancier tunes than I can alone -- I'd say $12. And that hourly beer, too, of course, for each of us."

"I'll take the beer as a given. I'm not about to be hiring a man and see him die from the thirst, but I'd say $7 was fairer. I never heard ye play, I don't know how good ye are."

"You know how good I am, and you also know I'm not one to push shoddy goods on you. How's $11?"

"Nobody's ever heard ye play. I'll be giving ye a chance to show off for the whole town; $8."

"Why don't we just split the difference like last time, $9.50."

"Done." Shamus spat into his hand and shook Natty's own hand to seal the bargain. Be here tomorrow at 7:30."

"Does this band of yuirs have a name?"

"Not really, why?"

"For me posters, the one's I'll be putting up all over town so that people'll be knowing about the dance. How does..." he rubbed his chin. "How does 'The Happy Days Town Band' sound to ye?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Good, 'cause that's what'll be on those posters."

"Okay, Shamus. I've got to get back to the store. We'll be up half the night getting our stock ready."

"Just so ye're not too tired to be playing tomorrow."

* * * * *

Thursday, August 24, Week 5 -- Day 7

"Clay, Marty, come take a look at this." Phineas "Finny" Pike and his friends had been among the first to get paid and ride into town. "They renamed the 'Shamrock Saloon,' and there's going to be a big dance there tonight."

"Dance," Clay Falk said. "Who we gonna dance with, Shamus' wife?" He laughed. "She's pretty enough for an old married woman, but they's going to be...what, 30 or 40 of us? That's a lot more'n one woman can handle."

Finny held up the sheet of paper he'd ripped off a post near the saloon. "It says here that they got a bunch of waiter-girls there for us to dance with."

"They must have hired them while we were on the drive," Martin Hernandez said. "I wonder what they look like."

"Can't be much," Clay said, if they came to Eerie to work."

"I don't know," Martin, Marty Hernandez, said. "Those ladies at Lady Cerise's ain't that hard to look at."

"Aw, c'mon," Finny said. "They're sitting around in their drawers waiting to go to bed with whoever pays them for it. That makes any woman look good."

"Why are we standing here arguing about it?" Clay asked. "The Shamrock...no, they're calling it the 'Eerie Saloon' is just down the street. Even if they're ugly as sin, them women can still serve beer."

The others quickly agreed, and they hurried to the saloon. Shamus was standing near the door talking to someone, a woman. Clay recognized her almost at once. "Mrs. Silverman," he said. "Is she one of the new girls you got here, Shamus?"

"What's the matter, young man?" a voice behind him asked. "You don't think mine Rachel is pretty enough to be working here?"

"Well, umm, Mr. Silverman," Marty said. "It's just that we expected, um, ah, single, yeah, single women." Mrs. Silverman, she's umm, spoken for."

"And don't you forget it, boychik," Aaron Silverman winked and put his arm around his wife's waist. "Come, Rachel. We made the delivery, and you had a chance to kibitz with Molly. Plus, you got this nice boy to make eyes at you. We've left poor Ramon alone in the store long enough -- especially if the cowmen from Slocum's are here." Rachel kissed him gently on the cheek and let him lead her from the Saloon.

"That was very kind, laddie" Shamus said. "Very quick thinking, too. When ye get over to the bar, tell R.J. I said to give ye one on the house."

"Thanks, Shamus," Clay said. "Only the thirst we got ain't _totally_ for liquor, if you know what I mean. We heard you got women here, new barmaids."

"Will she do?" Shamus pointed. Jessie was just coming out of the kitchen carrying a large platter of smoked sardines towards the Free Lunch. She was wearing a black skirt that showed the narrowness of her waist and a starched white blouse that strained against her breasts. Her blonde hair was combed and hung down to her waist in ringlets.

"Oh, she'll do," Finny said, a catch in his breath. "She'll do just fine."

"I seen her first," Marty said, and he began walking towards the table where Jessie was setting down the platter.

"Go get your free beer," Clay said, elbowing him out of the way. The two men stopped and glared at each other. When they turned back towards Jessie, Marty was already there, talking to her.

"Howdy, ma'am," Finny said, walking over. "I'm Finny -- Phineas Pike, and I'm the keeper of these fellows here." He pointed to Marty and Clay. "You let me know if they bother you."

"I am not bothering her," Marty said. "I am helping." He picked up some dirty dishes that were on the table. "Where shall I take these for you."

Finny grabbed a couple of empty beer steins. "Yeah, do these go back in the kitchen?" Jessie was unused to so much attention at once and just nodded. The two men scurried off towards the kitchen.

"You do that boys," Clay said with a smile. "I'll keep this pretty lady company till you get back."

Jessie looked at the satisfied smile on the face of the man standing next to her. The other men, obviously friends of his, looked ready to skin him alive. She smiled to herself. This had possibilities.

* * * * *

Bridget shuffled the cards and began to deal them out to the five cowboys sitting at her table. "Joe, you won the last hand. What kind of poker do you want this game to be?"

Joe Ortlieb cocked an eyebrow at stared at Bridget, slowly moving his eyes upward to her face. "Stud...seven card stud poker."

"Alright," Bridget said. "But this is the fifth straight game of stud poker. Don't you boys ever get tired of it?"

"We don't mind," Blackie Easton said. "We think of it as, well, kind of like one of them scientific experiments."

"What do you mean?" Bridget asked.

Joe smiled. "Well, Miss Bridget, we was kind of wondering how much stud...poker it took to wear _you_ out."

Bridget sighed. It was hardly the first such remark she'd heard that day. She was getting more than a little tired of it, but that damned voice in her head not only made her sit there, it made her smile. Of course, there was one way to get back at them. "More than any of you boys can play," she said with a smile of her own.

* * * * *

Shamus smiled, rocking back and forth on his heels, as he watched people eagerly falling into line for the restaurant. Six tables with five seats to a table, it should be enough for two seatings. He saw a few of the "regulars" among the cowboys waiting to be seated: Whit, Carmen, and the Silvermans; the Judge, here tonight with Abner Slocum and Dwight Albertson, probably talking politics; and a couple of other townsmen.

'Aye, business is going to be very, very good tonight,' Shamus thought. 'The women are practically a license to print money. I'll surely miss them when thuir time is up.' He was going to have to figure out a way to keep as many of them as he could.

"Gentleman...ladies," Shamus bowed towards Rachel and Carmen, "welcome to 'Maggie's Place.' It looks like some of ye'll have to wait, but if ye'll give me yuir names, I'll hold a place for the ones what don't get a seat now. Ye just come back in about an hour."

He lowered the velvet rope stretched across the area in front of the tables. He was careful to see that the Whitneys and Silvermans and the Judge and his group were able to get tables. Wilma and Laura, the strongest of the women -- so they could carry trays full of food for five or six, were the waitresses, both dressed in white blouses and long black skirts with starched white aprons around their waists. They handed out menus and began to take orders.

* * * * *

"No, I'm _not_ on the menu." Wilma looked down at her pad as she took the orders of a group of cowboys. She was really tired of comments like that and looking at the speaker just seemed to encourage more of them.

"You sure," one of them said. "You looks more'n sweet enough to be one of the desserts." He laughed, letting his eyes trail up and down her body.

"Actually, I'm kind of sour," Wilma said. "Especially with having to put up with no-accounts like you."

"Whoo-whee," another man said. "She's feisty! I do like that in a woman."

"You gonna be one of the pretty waiter girls at the dance here tonight?" a third man asked.

Damn! Shamus had told her -- told all the women how to answer that question. Wilma looked up and smiled at the men. She had to. "I'll be there. You give me a ticket, and you get to dance with me." Then she managed to add, "but that isn't going to happen, if I don't get to finish taking your dinner orders."

* * * * *

Clay Falk looked at the clock on the wall of the Eerie Saloon. "Hey, Shamus, what's the holdup?" he called.

Shamus looked at the stage. Hiram, Natty, and Tomas were just about set up. "Could ye give me a fanfare?" he yelled to them above the noise of the crowd.

The band sounded a few notes. "All right, gentlemen. We're ready to begin. I'll just be explaining the rules before the ladies come down."

"Hey, there they are," someone yelled.

Every eye turned to the second floor railing. Jessie stood leaning against it. She wore the white blouse and apron and the long black -- no, she was wearing a red skirt. Her blonde curls were in ringlets that framed her face and hung down her back. "Goodness," she said in a friendly, almost giddy tone Shamus had never heard her use before. "Did all you boys come just to dance with me?"

Shamus motioned for Molly to come over to him. "Go see what the hell's gotten into Jessie." Molly nodded and hurried though the crowd.

"Now that's Jessie," Shamus yelled, trying to get the cowboys' attention. "As soon as I explain the rules to ye, she and the other women will be coming down."

"Then hurry it up," someone yelled.

"Right ye are," Shamus said. "Now these tickets..." He held up the roll of tickets that Molly had handed him before she ran for the stairs.

* * * * *

Molly reached the second floor and ran over to where Jessie was standing, waving to the crowd of men below. "What do you think ye're doing, Jessie? Why the hell ain't ye waiting in the room with the other ladies?"

"I got bored in there," Jessie said with a smile. "I thought I'd come out here and see what was going on."

"Oh, ye did, did ye? And why was ye waving to the crowd and acting so friendly? That ain't like ye."

"What's the matter with how I'm acting? You and Shamus is always saying we should be friendly to your customers."

"Thuir's friendly and thuir's _friendly_. We always had to keep after ye to just be polite to people. Now ye're all smiles." Molly looked closely at Jessie. "What exactly are ye up to?"

Jessie half closed her eyes and looked shyly downward. "Why, Molly, what makes you think I'm up to anything?"

Molly cocked an eyebrow. "Don't ye try that innocent look with me, Jessie Hanks. I know ye much too well."

"Yeah, I guess you do," Jessie shrugged. "Okay, I admit it; I _did_ get bored. I saw the way those three cowboys got to fighting over me this afternoon, and I wanted to see just how riled up I could get the whole bunch of 'em. I was just trying to have me a little fun, that's all."

"Be careful, girl. These cowboys can have a rough idea of fun. They could wind up hurting each other -- or, maybe, hurting ye -- real bad."

"Aw, Molly, I can take care of myself. Don't worry."

"Now, that surely comes under the heading of 'famous last words,'" Molly said, shaking her head. She glanced downstairs. "Shamus is just about done with explaining how the dance works. Ye go get the other ladies from yuir room and get down stairs." She sighed, "and, please, Jessie, at least think a little about what I just said."

"I will," Jessie said, as she walked down the hall to the room. Then, to herself, she added, 'I'll think about it as little as possible.'

* * * * *

Laura stopped dancing and stepped back from her partner. "I told you twice already, Jake Steinmetz; that ticket says I got to dance with you, but that's all."

Jake smiled, showing uneven teeth. "Shucks, Miss Laura, I wasn't doing nothing."

"Nothing? You were grabbing my ass so hard, you probably left marks."

The smile became a leer. "I don't think I did, ma'am, but I'd be proud and happy to check."

Laura groaned. "Thank you, but no thanks." Why wouldn't the voice in her head let her kick this cull in the balls the way she wanted? The problem was, he wasn't attacking her. If he was, she could defend herself.

"They's still playing, and we can talk just as well while we dance." Jake raised his arms hopefully. "That ticket says I get a full dance with you."

'Maybe I can get Arsenio to...' Damn! Why had she thought of him and not R.J. or Shamus? She stepped into his arms. "Alright, Jake, but if you try to touch me anyplace but where you're supposed to -- and that means my hand or my waist -- I will make you eat that damned ticket."

"All right," Jake said. They began to move to the music again. "Dang! I just love a feisty woman."

* * * * *

Friday, August 25, Week 6 -- Day 1

"Them sure is some pretty women down at Shamus' place." Phil Trumbell leaned back against a stump and ate another forkful of lunchtime beans.

"That's the truth, but I hear tell there is something very odd about them." Angel Montiero took another sip of coffee and just sat enjoying the early afternoon breeze. They'd spent the morning sleeping off yesterday's fun, and they had a long afternoon rounding up strays for the next consignment of Abner Slocum's cattle ahead of them.

"What d'ya mean?" Phil asked.

Angel took another drink of coffee. "I have heard that they used to be someone else, someone very, very different from who they are now."

"Who cares? It ain't always healthy t'ask somebody who they was. I always say 'Not asking is the best life insurance.' They're here. They're damned pretty, and we'll be dancing with 'em tomorrow night."

"Señor Slocum sent me into town Wednesday with Cap Lewis to pick up our pay and some supplies. Cap, he say that they used to be men."

"What's he know? Cap Lewis is about as useless as tits on a bull. If he wasn't Slocum's nephew, he'd have been out of here months ago."

"Maybe so, but I asked a couple of men in town. They say it is true."

"Can't be. They's too pretty to be some of them sissy boys." He made a gesture with his wrist and hand.

"That's what they told me. Cap said Shamus O'Toole, you know, the _patrone_ at the Shamrock, used some kind of magic drink on them. He say Shamus had to because they were going to kill the sheriff and shoot up the whole town."

"Kill the Sheriff? Who were they? Did Cap tell you that?"

"That is the weird part. Cap said they were Will Hanks and his gang. You know that brunette, the one with the long curly hair and the..." Angel cupped his hands in front of his chest.

Phil nodded and smiled, remembering the woman. "Yeah...umm...Wilma. _Wil_ma? You don't mean..."

Now Angel nodded. "I do mean. Cap said she used to be Will Hanks. That's crazy. Last I heard Hanks was in jail for something for muy...many years."

"No, he got out a few weeks ago." Phil sat up. He drew his pistol and clicked it open. There was a bullet in every chamber, but the one behind the hammer. His eyes narrowed as he placed a bullet in there and clicked the weapon shut.

"Something the matter?" Angel asked.

Phil stood up. "I think I'm done with lunch." He dumped the food off his plate and took a last drink of coffee.

"What's the matter, amigo, we have plenty of time yet before we have to get back to work."

"I just thought I'd do me a little target shooting. You never know when you're going to run into a rattler."

* * * * *

Saturday, August 26, Week 6 -- Day 2

"Here you are, boys, three beers." Jessie smiled as she put the beers down on the table. "You let me know if there _anything_ else you want." She walked away, letting her hips sway as she walked. She could almost feel the men watching her. 'Three more on the hook,' she thought.

A man stepped in front of her. "Howdy, Miss Jessie. I-I'm Joe Ortlieb. We danced together the other night. You remember?"

Jessie smiled, hiding the way the memory really made her feel. "Joe, why, of course, I remember. I did so enjoy dancing with you."

Joe broke into a broad smile. "I knew it! I knew you liked me. I tried to dance with you again, but that pack of...saddlebums kept pushing ahead of me."

"I hope you'll try _harder_ tonight," Jessie said. Make that four men hooked.

"Oh, I will; I surely will."

* * * * **

"Welcome to the Lone Star, Friend. What's your choice?" Sam Duggan smiled at his new customer.

"Gimme a whiskey," Phil Trumbell said. "Taos Lightning, if you got it."

"I do, I surely do." He took a bottle of the whiskey from a rack behind the bar and poured two fingers into a glass. "That'll be 50 cents."

Trumbell put a silver dollar on the bar and took the glass. He downed it in one gulp, shuddering as the raw alcohol burned his throat. "That's Taos Lightning, all right. Gimme another."

Sam poured another shot. "You might want to go a mite slower, Friend. It ain't that I won't take your money, but we got hours to go before I close down."

"I know, but it's been a long, dry week. My throat feels like I could spit cotton. Tell ya what, how much for the bottle?"

"Cost ya $5."

Phil took a half eagle from his pocket and slapped it on the bar. The bartender slid the bottle towards him. "Get yerself a glass, and I'll treat you to one."

The bartender took a glass from under the bar, and Phil poured him a shot. "Thanks, Friend. Say, now, what d'they call ya?"

"Phil. I work out at the Slocum ranch."

"I'm Sam, and, thanks again for the drink."

"My pleasure, Sam." Phil paused a moment and looked at the bartender. "Say, you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Long as it ain't too personal, ask away."

"I, well, if you don't mind my asking about a competitor..." He put another quarter eagle down on the bar and slid it towards the bartender. "I hear they's something funny about them girls they got over t' the Eerie Saloon. There anything to that?"

Sam quickly pocketed the coin. "They don't come no funnier." He moved in close and whispered. "They was men. No, I'm telling it true. That Shamus, the one that owns the bar, he used some kind of Injun trick to turn 'em into women." He pointed to a man sitting at a table nursing a beer. "Harry, sitting over there, he seen it. He said it was the damnest thing he ever saw. They all changed into women, and they was in some kind of trance so they had to do whatever Shamus and the sheriff told them."

"How come they's still there?"

"The Judge said they had to serve time at the saloon, just like a jail. That Shamus is one lucky bastard, five bar girls that can't even quit."

"Who was they anyway?"

"You ain't gonna believe it, but they was the Hanks gang. Five of the meanest men you ever saw, and Shamus turns 'em into a bunch of sweet, little girls."

"Well, now ain't that interesting. You don't mind if I go ask -- Harry? -- his side of the story, do you?"

"Naw, go ahead, but you better take that bottle to loosen his tongue. Harry's a great one for minding his own business."

"Ain't we all, Sam; ain't we all?"

* * * * *

Hiram King squeezed out a "Ta Da!" on his accordion. "And now, gents, we're gonna play a waltz. So get yourself a partner and get out here on the floor."

Ramon was already standing next to Maggie. He tore another ticket off the string of them in his pocket and handed it to her. Then, as he was leading her out onto the floor, Shamus suddenly stepped in front of them. "Maggie, I'll be asking ye now to give Ramon back his ticket and go sit down and wait for someone else to ask ye to dance."

"But why?" Maggie asked.

Ramon stiffened. Yes, why, Señor Shamus? Is my money no good here any more?"

"No, no, lad," Shamus said, shaking his head. "Yuir a good man; I know that. Aaron wouldn't have hired ye, if ye weren't. Besides, I'm too much of a barman to refuse anybody's money."

Then why can I not dance with Maggie?" Ramon asked.

"Is it something that I did?" Maggie asked.

"No," Shamus said. "It ain't ye're fault neither. It just that, well, Ramon and ye just danced the last two dances together."

"So, we are friends," Ramon said. "Why should we not be dancing together if we wish to do so?"

"Besides, Ramon is a gentleman," Maggie said. "He does not lay his hands on me the way some men do when they dance with me."

Shamus frowned. "Maggie -- and ye can tell this to the other ladies -- if any of the men get too _physical_, paws ye too much, ye come and tell me or R.J. We'll be talking to them about it. I may like money, but I'm not so greedy that I won't throw a man out of me saloon if he can't behave himself."

"Thank you, Señor Shamus," Maggie said, "but you still did not say why Ramon and I can not dance this dance together?" Ramon nodded in agreement.

"No, I didn't," Shamus said, "and I should. Maggie, Ramon, there are rules to this sort of a dance. One is that every man has an equal chance to be dancing with one of the ladies. Another rule is that a lady can't be dancing too many dances with the same man."

"Why does that matter?" Ramon asked. "You said my money is just the same as any other man's."

"Aye," Shamus said. "But if a man and a woman are dancing too much together, it kind of says that she's spoken for." He looked Maggie right in the eye. "Do ye want to say that, Maggie? Do ye want to be saying that Ramon and ye are getting _romantic_ about each other?"

Maggie flushed. "No! No, of course not!" She said all too quickly. She took Ramon's ticket from her apron pocket and handed it back to him. Head down, she turned and started to walk back to her chair. She hadn't gotten five steps when a cowboy hurried up to her and handed her a ticket. She took it and let him lead her onto the floor.

"I am sorry, Señor Shamus," Ramon said. "Perhaps...perhaps I should leave."

"The hell ye will," Shamus said. "Ye'll at least stay long enough to let me buy ye a beer. Then, if ye'll wait a couple of dances -- maybe dance with one of the other ladies in the meantime -- I'll be having no objections if ye want to dance with Maggie again. Would that suit ye?"

Ramon sighed and nodded slightly. "I suppose that it will have to do. I am sorry if I caused you any problem, Señor Shamus."

Shamus reached up and put his arm across Ramon's shoulders. "I know, Ramon, and, for what it's worth, I'm sorry, too." He paused a moment. "Now, will ye let this sorry old bardog buy his sorry customer that beer?"

* * * * *

"All right, boys," Jessie said, with her best faked smile, standing in front of a small knot of eager men. "Who's the lucky one that's gonna dance the next dance with me?"

"I do believe I will," Toby Hess said, stroking his bright red mustache. "Here's m'ticket." Before anyone could stop him, he pushed a ticket between two of the buttons on Jessie's blouse. Only one small corner was still visible.

"Toby Hess, you get that ticket out of there!" Jessie screamed.

Toby reached towards her blouse. "With pleasure. Ma'am."

"Never mind," Jessie said quickly. She reached in quickly and pulled out the ticket. "Next time, I do hope I get asked by a _gentleman_." She sighed, smiling as the men watched her blouse rise, and ruefully let Toby lead her out onto the floor.

* * * * *

"What's going on here," R.J. said as he pushed his way through the knot of men a few minutes later.

"It's nothing, R.J.," Blackie Easton said. "We's just waiting to see who gets to dance the next dance with Miss Jessie."

"There's men waiting to dance with all of the ladies, but I don't hear them threatening each other the way you are," R.J. said.

"Maybe that's 'cause none of the other ladies can hold a candle to my Jessie," Joe Ortlieb said. Some of the others in the crowd mumbled agreement.

R.J. glared at the crowd. "Next man says anything like that _leaves_.

"I didn't mean nothing," Joe said.

"Maybe you didn't -- or maybe you did," R.J. said. "But _I_ mean it. This here is a friendly dance. Anybody tries to make it anything else isn't welcome." He paused a moment. "Understood?" The men nodded.

"Understood," the men said, not even close to unison.

R.J. turned and started back to the bar. 'I'm gonna have to talk to Shamus about this,' he thought. 'Jessie's really starting to rile them up.'

* * * * *

Sunday, August 27, Week 6 -- Day 3

"Excuse me, Shamus can we talk to you for a minute?" Bridget, said. She and Jessie stood next to the bar.

"I don't see why not," Shamus said, "seeing as the both of ye are standing there asking."

"Did you mean what you said to Maggie -- at the dance, I mean?" Bridget asked.

"What in particular would ye be asking about?" Shamus asked.

"You said to tell you if anybody was...pawing at us." Jessie hated to say it, to admit to her female body.

"Aye, I told her," Shamus said, frowning. "Is there anybody doing such things, anybody ye need to tell me about?"

"There's a few," Bridget said, "but Jake Steinmetz is probably the worst. He kept grabbing at me and Laura when we danced with him last night. My butt hurt so much from his pinching, I didn't want to sit down when we were done."

"Toby Hess ain't no better," Jessie said. I danced with him once last night, and that was two times too many. That man's got to have three hands, and they was all trying to feel my...tits."

"Breasts, Jessie," Shamus said. "Me and Molly both told ye that a lady calls

them breasts."

"Don't change the subject, Shamus," Bridget said. "Are you gonna throw those two out, or were you just spouting off to Maggie, last night?"

Shamus scratched his chin. "I'll not be throwing them out --"

"I knew it," Jessie said. "I knew you was lying. You're more interested in making a buck than in anything else."

"If that were true, Jessie, the whole lot of ye would be sitting around down here in yuir unmentionables, and I'd be known far and wide as the master of the finest parlor house in the territory." Shamus glared at her. "Ye'll apologize to me, and _now_!"

"She's sorry, Shamus," Bridget said. She jabbed Jessie in the side. "Apologize to Shamus. Then keep your mouth shut."

Jessie looked down. She knew that Shamus could probably make her do exactly what he'd just suggested. "I-I'm sorry, Shamus. I didn't -- I really didn't mean it. Hon-honest I didn't."

"Jessie, I've always believed in giving people a second chance." He smiled. "That's why I'll be accepting yuir apology, _and_ it's why I'll be talking to Toby and Jake. If they can behave themselves, thuir money's welcome. If they can't -- and I want ye two and the other ladies to tell me if they don't -- then, I don't want thuir money." He stuck out a hand. "Does that satisfy the pair of ye?"

Bridget took his hand and shook it. "I-I guess I'm satisfied." She was as unnerved by Shamus's implied threat as Jessie had been.

"What about ye, Jessie," Shamus asked, offering his hand again.

"Yeah, me, too." Jessie slowly reached for Shamus' hand. Suddenly, he grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. "Apology accepted, ma'am."

Jessie yanked her hand away. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Shamus?"

Shamus smiled -- almost leered at here. "Well, Jessie, ye been acting all flirty-flirty with me customers lately. I figured that if ye wanted them to be treating ye like a woman, then I'd treat ye that way, too."

"I-I don't," Jessie said. "So stop it."

"I will when ye will, Jessie," Shamus said. "Keep that in mind." He paused a moment. "Now the two of ye be getting back to work."

Three men had just sat down at a table, and Bridget walked over to see what they wanted to drink. Jessie stood for a moment staring at her hand, the one Shamus had almost kissed. She shook her head and walked towards the kitchen to help Maggie with the Free Lunch.

* * * * *

"Wilma, that cowboy over there asked for you," Laura said with a smile. "Looks like you got another conquest."

"Gee, thanks, Laura," Wilma said. It was mid-afternoon, and she'd been enjoying a few minutes rest before Laura came over and spoiled it. "And how're you and Arsenio getting along?"

"Now that ye're even with the insults, Wilma, go wait on me customer." Shamus said looking directly at the two women. "And the both of ye leave off the teasing."

Wilma grumbled and walked over to the table. "Can I take your order?" she asked just the way Shamus had rehearsed her.

The cowboy looked up at her. "Whiskey, Taos Lightning, if you got it." He tossed Wilma a silver dollar.

Wilma was back in a couple minutes with the drink and his change. The man seemed to be studying her as she put the drink down on the table. It really bothered her, the way men looked, but Shamus had told her that she had to just smile and take it. 'Just a few more weeks,' she thought.

"Scuse me, ma'am," the man said sipping his drink. "But didn't you used to be Will Hanks, the outlaw?"

It was the first time that someone had asked, but Shamus had never told them to deny the truth of who they had been. "Yeah," Wilma said. "I...I used to be Will Hanks. Why are you asking?"

"Cause I used to be Joe Trumbell's brother," the man said. He finished his drink and stood. "Fact is, I still am -- even if he's dead. You killed him, Hanks, and I come to return the favor."

Wilma shivered, trying to overcome the voice that wouldn't let her fight. "I...I can't f-fight you."

"Yellow, huhn. Well, maybe this'll help." He drew his pistol, a large Colt Peacemaker and tossed it to Wilma. She caught it by instinct and held it in her hand, looking at it.

Phil paced back about six steps. Others in the bar saw what was happening and hurried out of possible lines of fire. R.J. reached below the bar for Shamus' Winchester. The problem was how to keep the man from shooting Wilma, even if R.J. shot him first. Trumbell's pistol was out and in his hand.

Wilma tried to get her hand around the pistol. It was bigger than she remembered -- and a lot heavier. She thought she could use it -- if the voice would let her.

Trumbell lowered the pistol until it was pointing towards the floor. "Draw!" he yelled and began to raise it, pulling the hammer back as he did.

Instinct took over. Wilma raised the weapon. She fumbled a little because her hands were smaller, but she managed to squeeze off a shot. The recoil threw her sideways and down, and she fell to the floor.

Trumbell smiled, thinking he'd hit her. Then he felt the pain of the bullet in his own arm. He was hit, but he could still shoot, still kill that bastard.

R.J. fired the Winchester towards the ceiling just to make sure he had Trumbell's attention. "Hold it," he said. Somebody grabbed the pistol from Trumbell. Laura took the other one from Wilma and helped her to her feet. "Somebody go get the Sheriff," R.J. said. "And Shamus and the Doc."

* * * * *

Monday, August 28, Week 6 -- Day 4

Territorial law said a trial couldn't be held on Sunday. Since Shamus had the biggest available room, the trial was held right at the scene of the crime, the Eerie Saloon.

At one o'clock, the Judge closed his pocket watch and put it back in his coat pocket. He banged his gavel on the table and said, "the Court of the Township of Eerie, Arizona is now in session. Bring in the defendant."

Dan brought Phil Trumbell out from the storeroom, where they'd been waiting. Trumbell wasn't handcuffed, but he had his arm in the sling that the Doc had put on after digging out the bullet. Dan pulled a chair out from a table near the Judge and motioned for Trumbell to sit.

The jury had been picked earlier by lot. Every man who came into the Saloon had to take a marble from a bag Molly was holding. The twelve who got black marbles were the jury. They were already sitting in two rows of chairs near the Judge.

"Do you want a lawyer?" the Judge asked.

A dapper looking man in a brown frock coat and matching vest stood up. "He has one, Your Honor."

"Let him answer, Milt," the Judge said. "Phil Trumbell, is Milt Quinlan your lawyer?" Phil nodded. "All right, then, Milt. You can start."

Quinlan pushed back his glasses. "Thanks, Judge. I call Abner Slocum."

Slocum, a chunky man with a thick black mustache, stood and made his way to the chair near the Judge. "Raise your hand, Abner, and put it on the Bible there." When Slocum did, the Judge asked, "do you swear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but, so help you?"

"I do," Slocum said and sat down.

"Mr. Slocum," Milt asked, "are you the owner of the Triple A cattle ranch?"

"I am," Slocum said.

"And is Phil Trumbell one of your hands?"

"Yep, he's worked for me for...two years come October."

"What sort of a man is he?"

"He's a hard worker, don't complain...not more than anybody else, anyway. He gives a good day's work for a day's wages."

"And have you ever had any trouble with him, ever known him to make trouble?"

"No, never; like I said, he's a good man."

"Thank you, Mr. Slocum," Milt said. "I've no other questions."

"You can sit down, Abner," the Judge said. "You got anybody else, Milt?"

Milt nodded. "I call Lucius Freeman."

Lucius, a muscular Black in jeans and a red unionshirt, walked to the chair and sat down. The Judge swore him in.

"Now, Lucius," Milt said, "you work for Mr. Slocum, don't you."

"Yes, sir, I's the foreman," Lucius said with a slight drawl.

"And Phil Trumbell works under you?" Lucius nodded. "What sort of a man, what sort of a worker, is he?"

"He's a good worker, just like Mr. Slocum say. He do his job, and he do it real good."

"Ever have any trouble with him?"

"No, sir. He don't argue or start fights. He don't drink...at least not more'n he needs to, and I never knowed him to lie to me."

"Thank you, Lucius. You can sit down."

The Judge looked at Milt. "Is this your line of argument, counselor, that Mr. Trumbell is a good man, and not a trouble maker?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Milt said.

"And who else do you plan to call on this point?"

"Angel Montiero, Mt. Trumbell's line partner, and the Sheriff; with Your Honor's approval, of course."

"Let's stipulate that, until yesterday, your client was an exemplary -- a very, very good -- human being. The point of this trial, though, is what he _did_ yesterday. Why don't you just call him up here and ask him about that."

"Yes, Your Honor. I call Philip Trumbell to the stand." Trumbell walked to the chair. The Sheriff held the Bible, so he could be sworn in, and he sat down. "Now, Mr. Trumbell," what, exactly happened in here yesterday?"

"I shot at Will Hanks, and I'd have killed that bastard, but he...she ducked or something."

"We've just had Mr. Slocum and Mr. Freeman tell us what a good man you are, Phil. Why did you want to kill Wilma...Will Hanks?"

"'Cause Will Hanks killed my brother."

"I don't think I know your brother," the Judge said. "When, exactly, did Wilma kill him?"

"It wasn't here, Judge. Will killed my brother, Joe, six years ago over in the New Mexico Territory."

"Can you tell us about it, Phil?" Milt asked.

"My brother, Joe, was riding guard on a Wells Fargo stage that Hanks and his gang tried to rob. That...Hanks got the drop on him, on all of 'em. Joe had a derringer hid in his boot. He pulled it out while Hanks was getting the strongbox down. Only, one of Hanks' men saw him do it and yelled. Joe and Hanks both fired at the same time. The derringer bullet hit the strongbox. Will Hanks' bullet got Joe in the head. He was dead before he hit the ground."

"And Wilma...Will was never brought to justice for this crime?" the Judge asked.

"I can answer that, Judge," the Sheriff said. "It took better than a week of riding, but we got Will and brought him back to stand trial."

"Thank you, Sheriff," the Judge said, "but you aren't under oath."

"But that's what happened, Judge," Trumbell said. "'Cept that jury cared more about the money Will stole than the man he killed. They found him guilty, but that other judge, he only gave Hanks five years. Will Hanks got out a few weeks ago and came here to Eerie. Looking for the sheriff, I guess."

"If you knew Wilma was out of jail and here in Eerie, why did you wait till now to go after her?" the Judge asked.

"'Cause I didn't know," Trumbell said. "My cousin, Timmy, works in Santa Fe. He was supposed to find out when Hanks got out of jail and where he went. Only, he got sick, and he didn't know Hanks was let out until a few days after it happened."

"Then he found out and warned you Hanks was coming?" The Judge asked.

"Nope," Trumbell said. "All he could find out was that Hanks was looking to settle a score with somebody. Timmy sent a telegram that Hanks might be coming here to Eerie for the Sheriff, but it came while I was on that drive with Mr. Slocum. I didn't know about it until I was in jail." He laughed. "I-I actually _danced_ with Will Hanks the other night."

"Do you have any more questions, Mr. Quinlan?" the Judge asked.

Quinlan shook his head. "No more questions, or evidence, Your Honor. The defense rests."

"All right, Milt," the Judge said. "Make your closing remarks."

"Gentlemen of the jury," Quinlan began. "I admit that my client tried to kill Will Hanks. But look at what Will did. Six years ago, while he was robbing a stage coach, he killed Joe Trumbell, my client's brother. He paid for robbing that stage, but the jury over there in New Mexico didn't seem to think that Joe's death counted. It did count. It counted very much. If the jury didn't want to punish Will Hanks for that death, does that mean that he gets off scott free? Phil Trumbell didn't think so. He thought a man should pay for something like that. If the jury wouldn't make Will pay -- if it didn't even want to think about making him pay, then doesn't Phil Trumbell have the right to do it?"

"Sure, Phil Trumbell did wrong, but Will Hanks did a bigger wrong, and -- if you let Will off -- if you only punish Phil -- then you'll be saying two wrongs can make a right. If you find Phil Trumbell guilty, you'll be saying that Will Hanks had the right to kill his brother."

"All right, jury," the Judge said. "You've heard all that everyone's had to say about what happened. Now, you go with the Sheriff and decide what's what." The men rose and followed Dan to a room upstairs. They went inside, and Dan locked the door after them.

* * * * *

"The jury's back," Dan shouted from the second floor. Several people looked at Shamus' clock. They'd been up there nearly two hours.

"Court's back in session," the Judge said. "Everybody sit down. Bring them down, Dan." People quickly hurried to a seat. Trumbell was sitting where he had been under the watchful eyes of his lawyer and deputy sheriff Paul Grant. The jury followed Dan downstairs and took their seats.

"Will the defendant please rise," the Judge said. Trumbell and Quinlan both stood. "Has the jury reached a decision?"

Sam Braddock, the foreman stood. "We have, Judge. Trumbell was right to be mad, but he --"

"No speeches, Sam," the Judge said. "Just tell me what he's innocent or guilty of doing."

"Sorry, Judge. We find him...umm, Phil Trumbell, guilty of disturbing the peace and of attempted assault."

"That's all?" Wilma said, jumping to her feet. "He tried to kill me."

"Well, you did kill his brother," Sam said, "but we just couldn't let him off without finding him guilty of something."

"I agree with your logic, Sam," the Judge said. "The jury is excused. To, ah, satisfy the bloodthirsty Miss Hanks, I'm going to give the defendant his choice of sentences."

"I don't understand, Your Honor," Quinlan said.

"Mr. Trumbell. You've been found guilty. I sentence you to one year in the territorial penitentiary at Prescott." He paused for effect. "Or, I order that that you can drink Shamus' potion and serve thirty days here at the Saloon."

"You mean...become a...girl?" Trumbell said.

"Yes," the Judge said. "Those are your choices."

Trumbell laughed. "Ain't no choice, Judge. A year from now, I'll be an ex-con, but I'll still have my self-respect. I'll have my pecker, too, and I figure that sure do put me one up on that pretty, little piece of fluff you turned Will Hanks into." Wilma clenched her fists in anger, but Trumbell acted like he didn't notice. He was still laughing when the deputy took him back over to the town jail.

* * * * *

R.J. waited until late in the afternoon. There were only a few people in the Saloon, and Molly was leaning on the bar talking to Shamus. "I think we'd better talk about Jessie," R.J. said.

"I don't understand what's the matter with her," Shamus said. "It's like she's all of a sudden decided that she likes being a girl." He shook his head. "I don't trust her."

"And ye're right not to," Molly said. "When I talked to her before the dance on Saturday, she said that she was doing it to have some fun. She wants to see how much she can stir them cowboys up." She sighed. "She wants see if she can get them to be fighting over her."

"She almost got her wish on Saturday," R.J. said. "There were a bunch of cowboys all bunched up and ready to fight over who was gonna be the next one to dance with her."

"Oh, hell," Shamus said. "That's always trouble."

"It gets worse," R.J. said. "One of them said that Jessie was a whole lot prettier than any of the other women, and some of the others agreed with him."

"So, we got two problems. Thuir ready to fight among themselves to be the one to dance with her," Molly said, "and thuir ready to fight anybody else that says she ain't the best one."

"I think I'd better have meself a little talk with the flirtatious Miss Hanks," Shamus said.

* * * * *

Tuesday, August 29, Week 6 -- Day 5

"Hey, Shamus," Arsenio said, "how's it going?"

Shamus gave him a professional smile. Arsenio seldom left his smithy during the day. "Not bad, Arsenio. Can I get ye a drink?"

Arsenio shrugged. "Beer, I guess. He put two quarters down on the bar. The barman drew a beer and set it down in front of him. Arsenio took a long, slow drink. "Say, is...ah...Laura around here anyplace?"

So that was it. Shamus looked around the room. "I think she's in the kitchen helping Maggie with the cooking. Ye want I should go get her?"

"Would you mind if I went back there myself? That way, you wouldn't have to leave the bar."

"I guess it'd be okay." He motioned with his hand. "Go ahead."

"Thanks, Shamus." Arsenio finished his beer and walked around to the kitchen door. When he opened it, he saw Maggie stirring something in a pot on the stove. Laura was sitting at the table chopping vegetables.

"Maybe I should come back later when you're not armed," he said with a smile.

Laura looked up and smiled back. No, you're safe enough -- for now anyway. Did you want something? Maggie's almost ready with the Free Lunch."

"I, ah, was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute," he said.

Laura looked over at Maggie. Maggie nodded. "But not too long, I will need those vegetable for my _con carne_."

"I'll be quick," Arsenio said.

"What did you want, Arsenio," Laura said, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Last time, I kind of, umm, sprang it on you, so this time, I wanted to ask you early -- and in private." He glanced at Maggie who quickly turned back to whatever was the stove. "How about joining me for supper tonight?"

"Arsenio," Laura said, "you know I ain't interested in you like that."

"Like what?" Arsenio asked. "You bought me that beer last week to apologize for getting so mad at me. I wanted to buy you supper by way of apologize for making you so mad t'begin with."

"You was the one who paid for that beer."

"Okay, I paid, but it was still _your_ apology. Ain't we friends?"

"I suppose so -- but _just_ friends."

"Then give me a chance to apologize, too, okay." He stuck out his hand.

"Okay," Laura said, shaking his hand. "I'm washing dishes tonight -- it's Wilma's turn to be waitress -- so I guess we can eat supper together."

"Fine. I'll be by about 6, if that's okay."

"As good a time as any, but you'd better talk to Shamus t'make sure there's a table for us." Then she added, "and don't forget, he only gives me a half hour for supper."

"I'll talk to him on the way out." He looked at his pocket watch. "I'd better get going. I got work waiting for me back at my shop, and you've got dinner to help make." He turned. "See you."

"Bye," Laura said, waving just before he walked back into the Saloon. She sat back down and began chopping more vegetables. For some reason, the conversation had left her feeling...funny. The knife was shaking in her hand. When she glanced over at Maggie, she noticed that the other woman was grinning at her.

* * * * *

Cap Lewis tossed a silver dollar down on the bar. "Gimme a beer, R.J."

"Where you been, Cap?" R.J. asked, putting the beer down in from of Cap." I haven't seen you in here since Saturday."

Cap sighed. "You wouldn't believe how busy it is out at the ranch. Uncle Abner has everybody working their tails to catch up with what didn't get done while they were on the drive."

"Yeah, but you didn't go. How come you're too busy to drop by?"

"'Cause I'm the 'idiot nephew' -- just ask Uncle Abner if I'm not. He's gonna teach me how to run a ranch if it kills the both of us. I got to follow him around like a damned suckling calf and listen while he explains it all to me for the fiftieth time." He took a long drink of his beer.

"So leave -- or better, yet, talk to the man. Abner Slocum always struck me as a reasonable man."

"Not about me. Since my parents died, he's about my only living relative -- my only close one, at least. He's got it set in his head to make sure I do right by my life. That's why he brought me out here and give me my job." He finished his beer and set the empty stein down on the bar. "The hell with it. I only came in here to see Bridget. Where is she?"

"She's upstairs with the other ladies, taking a break and getting ready for tonight." He looked over at the clock. "They should be up there in their room another...oh...fifteen minutes or so. You want another beer while you wait?"

"I'll take that beer, but I can't wait that long. Uncle Abner sent me in town for the mail, and he expects me back in time for supper."

"Let me get that beer for you then." R.J. refilled the stein and handed it back to Cap.

"R.J., does Shamus ever let Bridget -- let any of the women leave the Saloon?"

"He's sent them on errands -- say, over to Silvermans' for something. He and Molly took them all to Whit's a couple of times for baths. Why you asking?"

"I-I was wondering if he'd let me take Bridget for a buggy ride some afternoon."

R.J. thought for a moment. "How you planning to get away, if you're uncle's working you so hard?"

"He ain't gonna be pushing that hard forever. First off, we're almost caught up. Besides, the men aren't gonna take his pushing them forever, and he's smart enough to know it. I figure that things'll be back to normal by the weekend. I can get probably in here Saturday afternoon; Sunday for sure."

"Saturday, we're gonna have another dance, y'know."

"Do I know? Hell, aside from work, that's about the only thing the men are talking about."

"Then you should know how busy all of us, including the women, are going to be on Saturday. If -- and I'm not saying he will -- but if you want to try to talk Shamus into letting her go, you'd better try for Sunday."

"I think you're right, R.J. Thanks."

"Don't thank me. You've got somebody else to talk into it first."

"Who? Oh, yeah, Bridget."

"Yeah, Bridget. You're taking a lot for granted if you think she's going to go on a buggy ride with you like some sweet young thing from back home."

"You don't think she'll do it?"

"No, Cap, I don't think any of them is ready to start keeping company with a man. They don't always act that way, but I'd say they still think of themselves as men -- most of the time, anyway."

"So you're saying..."

"Forget about Sunday. Go slow, and let things happen in their own time."

"There just might be some truth in that, R.J. Thanks." Cap looked up at the clock. "Damn!" He drained the rest of the beer in one swallow and hurried out.

R.J. put the beer stein in a tray with others waiting to be washed. He poured himself a round and leaned back against the bar. "I wonder if Bridget _would_ like to go on a buggy ride some afternoon."

* * * * *

Arsenio showed up at 6 PM sharp. Shamus noticed that he was wearing a clean shirt and a black string tie. He didn't mention it, though, as he led them to a table, no more than he mentioned the fresh blouse that Laura wore.

Wilma came by a few moments. She glared at Laura, when she handed them the menus. Her expression didn't change when she took their orders, or when she brought the food.

"Enjoying your meal, Laura?" Arsenio asked after a while.

"Sure am," Laura said, taking another forkful of mashed potatoes. "Maggie's got a real way about her with cooking."

"I'm glad you like it."

"Can I ask you a question?" She waited a moment until he finished cutting himself a bite of his steak and nodded, then asked, "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why the supper?"

"I already told you why. I wanted t'say I was sorry for getting you so upset with me."

"Let me say it plainer, then. Why are you trying so hard to be my friend?"

"What do you mean?"

"The first time we ever laid eyes on each other, I threatened you; hell, I took a shot at you. And you -- you was all ready to stand your ground and fight me." She took a bite of roast beef. "Now, here we are, pretty as you please, having dinner like a couple of old friends." She paused. "I want to know why."

"Why d'you think?"

"I don't want to play games with you, Arsenio. If you can't give me a straight answer, this dinner's over."

"There isn't a straight answer -- not really anyway. I...umm...guess it's 'cause of the potion you took -- you and the others."

"Now what the hell does that mean -- are you saying it's 'cause I look like a pretty girl, and you want to --"

"No! I know how pretty you are, and all...but that's not it." He sighed. "Look, you was as ornery a son of a bitch as any I every met. Then you take that stuff, and everything's...different."

"Yeah, I'm stuck in this body."

"It's more than the body, Laura. The potion wiped the slate clean. Whatever made you that SOB wasn't there anymore -- not as much, anyway. You -- all five of you -- got a second chance. It's like that potion of Shamus made better people of you somehow."

She frowned. "Wilma and Jessie don't seem that different. I don't think I am, either, come t'think of it."

"You are; you're a lot different. As far as the other two, Wilma was just born mean, I think, and she's always gonna stay that way no matter what she looks like. Jessie -- I hear tell that Jesse Hanks was crazy as a loon, and that don't change too easy either."

"But you think I've changed?"

"I know it. When I first came in here -- after the change, I mean -- I come just to tease you. That stuff about the drink by the shot...you remember?"

"Do I? You was a damn pain in the ass." Her expression was half a scowl and half a smile.

"Yeah, I was, but you took it, you took it like a...umm, man. Here you was, just had your manhood taken away. Shamus fixed it so you couldn't hurt anybody, but he didn't say you couldn't scream or yell or just walk around in a sulk with a chip the size of the Rockies on your shoulder."

"Believe me, I wanted to. I think we all did."

"You didn't though. You just hunkered down and tried to make the best of it. I saw that you were somebody with backbone, somebody who didn't make other people suffer for her own problems. That was...you was the sort of...person I wanted t'know." He cut himself another piece of steak. "Does that answer your question, Laura?"

"Yeah, I guess it does. You're trying to sweet talk me into bed." She grinned at the look on his face and extended her hand. "Just kidding...friend."

* * * * *

Wednesday, August 30, 1871, Week 6 -- Day 6

"Jessie, what do you think you're doing?" Wilma asked. The five women were in their room, getting ready for the evening's work.

"What do you mean, Wilma." Jessie draped her blouse over her bed.

"What do I mean!" Wilma said. "All this flouncing around, smiling at -- no, _flirting_ with the men down in the Saloon. If I didn't know better, I'd think you was getting to like being a girl."

Jessie laughed. "Ain't you figured it out, Jessie? I'm just having me a little fun with the men."

"Damn!" Wilma pounded the air with her fist. "I knew it. That potion is working on your mind now."

"No -- no, it ain't, Wilma," Jessie said. "You don't understand. Look, the other day, when the men got back from the drive, three of them come into the Saloon while I was working."

"So," Wilma said. "A lot of them came into the place. We was busier than hell on Christmas that whole day."

Jessie nodded. "These men was friends, just back from a drive, and they all but got into a fight over which one of them was gonna help me clean up the plates at the Free Lunch"

"You liked it. Is that it? You liked it and you wanted more." Wilma looked at her suspiciously.

"Damn right, I did. If I can get three men to fight over me without doing nothing, think how big a fight I can get started if I try." Jessie laughed. "If I'm lucky, they'll wreck the whole damned Saloon."

Now Wilma laughed. "I like it; I'm sorry I didn't think of that myself. Only, Shamus, him and Molly and R.J. ain't stupid. They've surely got to suspect you're up to something."

"They are," Jessie said. "Shamus warned me this afternoon. He said if I started trouble cause of the way I acted, he was gonna make me sorry. He took away my pecker. He's got me waiting on tables and cleaning out spittoons. What more can he do to me." She paused for a breath. "And if I can get all them cowboys to wreck the place, whatever he does do -- it'll be worth it."

"Well, that's a relief," Wilma said. "I was afraid you was going sissy like Laura and Bridget over there." She pointed to the two women, who were sitting on their beds a few feet away. Her voice was loud enough to be heard.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bridget asked.

"Yeah, and who're you calling 'sissy', Wilma?" Laura demanded.

"You two," Wilma said. "Bridget, you got Cap Lewis all but twisted around your finger --"

"Cap is my steadiest player -- at the poker table, I mean," Bridget said. I got to be nice to him to keep him there."

"Not _that_ nice," Wilma said. "You're always talking to him and the others, smiling at them, dancing with them."

"Now if that isn't the stupidest..." Bridget said. "I got to dance with whoever gives me a ticket -- we all do. That's the way Shamus runs them dances."

"I suppose," Wilma said. "But you're still talking to them all the time."

"We're friends, Wilma, nothing more," Bridget said. "That's what I said days ago at Callen's trial."

"Yeah," Laura said. "We've gone all over that. If that's your best, you might as well just drop it."

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk, Laura," Wilma said. "I seen you with that blacksmith. The day we rode into town, you was ready to kill him. Now you're having dinner with him."

"That," Laura said. "We, uh, had a fight while I was all moody just before my monthlies. After they was over, I felt dumb about it. We're friends, too, and he wanted to apologize for starting it."

"Yeah," Bridget said. "There's nothing wrong with that. Men do apologize, you know."

"Oh, I know how it is with them lover's spats, Bridget," Wilma said.

Laura tensed. "You're getting way out of line, Wilma."

"What's the matter, Laura?" Wilma asked. "I was there, too. First time he wanted to have dinner with you, you were shouting something about going to bed with him. You done _that_ yet?"

"Why you son of a..." Laura slapped Wilma's face.

Wilma slapped her back. Then, with a growl in her throat, she grabbed Laura's hair and started grappling with her. Laura fought back. In a moment, the two of them were rolling around in the floor, shouting at one another and pulling each other's hair.

"Whoooeee, look at them two cats fighting it out in their dainties," Jessie said with a laugh that _almost_ sounded like a giggle.

"Shut up, Jessie," Bridget said. "Maggie, give me a hand here." Bridget and Maggie tried to separate the two women, but they pulled away and kept fighting. Finally, Bridget grabbed the pitcher of water that was always on the table, and emptied it over the pair. "Now stop it, the both of you," she ordered when they stopped, shocked by the cold water."

"I'm wet!" Laura said, sitting up.

"You both are," Jessie said with a chuckle. "I never knew a wet camisole would stick to a woman like that."

Wilma and Laura both looked down. Their camisoles were soaked through and almost transparent. The fabric clung to their breasts outlining them and showing their nipples, which were erect from excitement and the cold water.

Wilma blushed and quickly unfastened her corset and pulled the camisole off over her head. Laura grabbed a towel and tried to dry herself.

There was a knock on the door. "What's going on in there," Shamus called. "We could hear ye banging on the floor."

"Nothing," Wilma said, holding her wet camisole in front of her. "We -- we was practicing them dance steps, and we...ahh...just accidentally knocked over a couple of chairs."

"Well, get dressed and be quick about it," Shamus said. "And don't ye all be forgetting to brush yuir hair like I told ye."

Laura and Wilma got up and changed into dry clothes. The other women were already changed and sitting on chairs or on their beds. They picked up their brushes and began running them through their hair. Wilma and Laura joined them as soon as they had dressed. They all brushed their, hair thirty strokes to a side, and with each stroke, they all repeated the phrase, "I'm a girl."

Just like Shamus had told them weeks before.

* * * * *

Thursday, August 31, 1871, Week 6 -- Day 7

"I think that's about it, Jake," Toby Hess said, settling the last of their supplies into the back of his partner's wagon.

Jake Steinmetz came out of the hardware store, cradling a box of blasting caps under his long arm. "You think we got time to go visit the ladies over t'the Eerie Saloon, Toby?" He carefully put the box in the wagon; then ran his fingers though his long silvery hair.

Toby looked down the street at the Eerie Saloon. "Nope, I sure ain't got the cash for it anyway, not after buying all this stuff." He looked again. "Hey, here comes Shamus."

Shamus walked over to where the pair stood. "I heard ye boys were in town, and I wanted to have a little talk with ye."

"Why don't we go over to your place, then." Jake said hopefully. "We can have a nice, long talk over a beer -- 'specially if you're buying."

"Actually, that's sort of what I wanted to be talking to ye about," Shamus said. "It seems the ladies at me place have been telling me stories about ye."

"Hot damn," Toby said. "I knew them ladies liked us. They just can't wait to be a-dancing with us come Saturday." He stroked the ends of his bright red mustache.

No, they aren't," Shamus said. "They've been telling me that the pair of ye have been far and away too familiar with yuir hands."

"We wasn't no such thing," Jake said.

"They say ye were, Jake, and they're the ones I'm believing. They don't like it. That means that _I_ don't like it."

"Aw, Shamus," Jake said. "We didn't mean nothing. We was just having a little fun with them."

"The fun's over for you, Jake; you, too, Toby. The dance Saturday is yuir last chance. If ye can behave yuirselves, then there'll be no more said of this. If not, well, I'm sure ye two can find something else ye can be doing with yuir Saturday nights."

"That ain't fair, Shamus," Toby whined.

"It's more than fair," Shamus said, as he turned to walk away. "The ladies didn't even want me to be giving ye a second chance."

* * * * *

Saturday, September 2, 1871, Week 7 -- Day 2

"Thanks again for the drink, Blackie" Jessie said, putting down her glass. It wasn't a real beer, but it was close enough. She _was_ thirsty. "I'd better go back and sit down. They'll be starting the next dance soon."

Blackie Eastman patted his shirt pocket. "I know. I got my ticket all ready."

"I'm sorry, Blackie," Jessie said, trying to look disappointed. "Shamus doesn't like us to dance two dances in a row with the same man." She paused for effect. "No matter how much we want to."

"He never said anything about it," Blackie said.

"I know, but just the other night, he wouldn't let Ramon -- the man that works for the Silvermans -- he wouldn't let him dance two in a row with Maggie." She pretended to pout. "It isn't fair."

"It sure ain't," Blackie said, "but I wouldn't want to get you in trouble. Can I escort you back to your chair, at least?" He offered her his arm.

Jessie smile. "I'd like that." She took his arm and let him lead her back to the row of chairs.

Just as they reached the chairs, someone put his hand on Blackie's shoulder. "Hey, you trying to beat my time with Jessie?"

Blackie turned. "What do you mean, _your_ time, Mister?" He didn't recognize the man as one of Mr. Slocum's hands.

"You just danced with her," the man said. "It's my turn now."

"Says who," someone -- Clay Falk said. Clay pushed the stranger out of line. The stranger pushed back; then he took a swing at Clay. Clay blocked the punch, and threw one of his own. In a moment, they were both swinging.

Joe Ortleib stepped gingerly around the two fighters. "Now that they've found something else to do, Miss Jessie, will you do me the hon --" The two men stopped fighting. They grabbed Joe and threw him to the floor.

"Hey, you can't do that to Joe," Angel Montiero yelled, throwing a punch at one of the pair. In no time at all, half the men in the Saloon were fighting. Laura turned over a nearby table and ducked behind it with Bridget and Maggie.

Jessie leaned back in her chair, an evil grin on her face, watching the fight she had caused. Someone broke a chair over another man's back. Beer steins were flying; one struck a stack of glasses on the shelf behind the bar. A man tried to hide under a table, only to have the table overturned with a satisfying cracking of the wood. A couple of men were already lying on the floor unconscious.

The three musicians cradled their instruments protectively and inched towards the kitchen door. One of them, Tomas Hernandez, was drenched when a stein full of beer hit the wall above him. They crouched lower and ran for the door.

Someone was using a spittoon like a club; it made a sort of "bong!" when it connected with a man's head. After a few minutes, the spittoon fell to the floor with a clatter. Whoever had been using the spittoon lay on the floor next to it.

Wilma sat next to Jessie and turned to congratulate her. "I think your idea worked," she yelled over the noise.

Jessie laughed. "I do love a good fight, even if I can't be a part of it."

"Same here," Wilma said, "but I sure do miss it."

"All those big, strong, _stupid_ men wrecking the place fighting over little old me. Jessie smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes.

Bamm!

Everything stopped. R.J. was standing behind the bar, a smoking shotgun in his hands.

Shamus was standing next to him, holding a pistol. "Anybody starts up again, the next shots won't go through the ceiling." He looked slowly around the room, surveying the damage. "Now, what in the names of all the Blessed Saints is going on in here." His voice was firm and _very_ angry.

The men looked at each other, trying to remember why each had begun fighting. Slowly, but inevitably, they were all turning in Jessie's direction.

Joe Ortleib slowly raised his hand. "I guess it was Clay Falk and me, Shamus. We got into a fight with somebody..." he looked around the room. The stranger was lying unconscious on the floor. Clay pointed to him. "...with this feller here over who was gonna dance with Jessie next."

Shamus came out from behind the bar. "Jessie, I might have known."

"It wasn't her fault, Shamus," Clay said. "Joe started it."

Joe turned, his fists clenched. "Why you stinking --"

"Hold it," Shamus yelled. He walked over towards them. Jessie and Wilma began to stand up. "You just sit back down, Jessie, you, too, Wilma."

"I didn't do anything," Jessie said, looking down at the floor. "I was just sitting here waiting for somebody to --"

"To what, Jessie," Shamus asked. His eyes narrowed. "I tell ye right now to answer all me questions honestly." His voice was firm as he looked her in the eye. "Now, tell me, _exactly_, what have ye been up to?"

Jessie fought, but the voice in her head was a strong as ever. "I-I b-been flirting with...with the men, try...trying to get them...r-riled up, g-get them to th-think I...I...liked them."

"Why?" Shamus said.

"So...so they'd f-fight over...me."

"Why did you want us to fight, Jessie," Joe said. "I thought you liked us."

"Answer him, Jessie," Shamus said. "Answer him honest and true."

"The w-way they...they looked at me," Jessie said, still trying to fight the voice. "It made me f-feel like...like a d-damn, stupid...girl. I w-w-wanted them to feel st-stupid, too."

"Is that the only reason?" Shamus asked suspiciously.

"N-n-no," Jessie said. Damn, she was going to spill everything. "I-I wanted to get...get back at y-you, too. I w-wanted them to f-fight, to wr-wreck your d-d-damned precious...saloon."

"Well, ye almost got yuir wish," Shamus said. "Wilma, it's yuir turn to be honest now. Did ye know about this."

Wilma gritted her teeth. She didn't want to talk, either, but she couldn't help it. "Y-yes. Jessie...told me about her...her plan a f-few days...ago."

Shamus shook his head. "And ye didn't tell me about it. What touching family loyalty. "Bridget, Maggie, Laura, did ye know?"

"I figured she was up to something, Shamus, the way she was acting" Laura said, "but I didn't know what it was."

"She and Wilma were talking about something the other day," Maggie said, "but I could not hear what." Laura and Bridget nodded in agreement.

Shamus sighed. "Well, I never said ye had to be watching each other for me. And I don't think that I'll be saying that now, either." He looked around. "What I will say is that this place has to be cleaned before we can start the dance up again. Wilma, ye get a broom and start sweeping up all the broken glass and wood. Bridget, Laura, and Maggie, ye go put the tables and chairs back in place."

The women walked away to do their assigned jobs, and Molly came over and stood beside Shamus. "What about her?" she asked, pointing a finger at Jessie.

Shamus looked closely at Jessie and cocked an eyebrow. "Jessie, do ye know the song, 'Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair?' Tell the truth now."

"I-I do," Jessie said. "Why?"

"Ye'll find out," Shamus said. "How about 'Oh, Susanna' and 'The Flying Trapeeze.' Do ye know them?" Jessie nodded twice. "Good, then come with me." Shamus offered her his arm.

Jessie rose and took Shamus' arm. He led her behind the bar. R.J. and Molly were serving drinks at the other end, and most of the crowd was down there, looking to get served. "Now take off yuir blouse and hand it to me," Shamus said. "Yuir skirt, too."

"No," Jessie said, "Please."

"I don't recall giving ye a choice, Jessie," Shamus said. "Ye did this because ye didn't like being reminded ye was a girl, so I'm gonna make _sure_ ye never forget that fact. Take them off."

"But..." Jessie had no choice. Her fingers trembled as she slowly unbuttoned the blouse and handed it to Shamus. She untied her apron and laid it on the counter, even though Shamus hadn't told her to. She couldn't take her skirt off while she wore it. She unbuttoned the skirt, and it slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She stepped out of it, using her leg to lift it to where she could reach. He took it and handed it to Shamus.

Shamus stood, one eyebrow cocked, looking at her. "Not quite enough. Take off yuir petticoat, too."

Jessie's eyes began to water. She'd wondered what else Shamus could do to her. Now -- now, she remembered his threat about the parlor house. Was he actually going to force her to do _that_? She fought her own hands, but it was no good. Her fingers untied the strings that held the petticoat tight at her waist. She held on to one part as she stepped out of it and handed it to him.

She looked over towards the other end of the bar. A few men had noticed her. They pointed and leered. Blackie Easton whistled. Jessie felt naked, even if she did still have her camisole, corset, and drawers on. She shivered, though not from the cold.

A chair was tipped over against the bar. Shamus righted it and placed it next to the work counter. "Use this, Jessie, and get up on me bar, and don't ye be trying to smash anything or make any sort of a mess once ye're up there."

She stepped onto the chair and, from it, climbed slowly onto the bar top. By now a few of the men had spotted her. Fingers were pointing, and she heard rude yells and whistles. Her face flushed, and she instinctively put one arm over her breasts, the other at her crotch.

"Gents, it'll take a while for me place to get cleaned up, so ye can get back to dancing. In the meantime, Jessie...well, she was the one that started the fight, so it only seems fair that she entertain ye while ye wait." He looked up at her. "Sing loud, Jessie, so they can all hear ye. Ye'll start off with 'Jeanie', then sing 'Susanna' and 'Trapeze'. Oh, and hold yuir hands at yuir sides, so they don't distract any from the singing."

Jessie cringed. Singing was a long shot better than having to...have sex, but it was still damned embarrassing. Her hands moved slowly to her sides, fists clenched, but she couldn't move them back. Then she heard something, her own voice -- she hadn't realized that the potion had given her Sarah Fuller's clear, rich soprano voice, as well as Sara's body.

"I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,

Soft as a zephyr in the summer air..."

The men hooted at first, enjoying the view of the pretty blonde serenading them in her unmentionables. They had to admit, though, she _was_ good. After a few minutes, the catcalls and whistles stopped. The men began to enjoy hearing the singing as much as they were enjoying watching the singer.

Jessie appreciated the attention she was getting. At the same time, she _knew_ it was because of what she was -- or _wasn't_ wearing. She shivered as she began "Oh, Susanna." 'I'll be damned if I act any more like a girl than I have to,' she thought, 'but I ain't going up against that damned Irishman again. Not for a long while, anyway.'

Wilma stood over in a corner, grumbling as she swept. Shamus watched for a moment, then came over to her. "Get working, Wilma, or ye can be up there with Jessie, singing a duet in _yuir_ unmentionables."

* * * * *

  

  

  

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