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

by Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson

© 2001

  

* * * * *

Friday, September 15, 1871, Week 9 -- Day 1

Jane lay in bed, still half-asleep, watching Maggie dress. Maggie was tying strings from an oddly shaped piece of cloth around her hips. The strip of cloth itself went between Maggie's legs, right up close to her privates. "What is that thing you're putting on?" Jane asked. "It looks like some kinda pouch."

Maggie turned at the sound of Jane's voice. "I did not know you were awake," she whispered. "This...this is for my monthlies; so I stay clean."

"Monthlies," Jane asked. "What are they?"

"Let her find out for herself," Laura said, annoyed at having been woken up by Jane's talking. "We had to."

"No, that would not be fair," Maggie said. "Your monthlies are something every woman gets. I do not know why. You...bleed from...down here for a few days." She pointed towards her groin.

Jane's eyes went wide. "Am...am I gonna get them? Is there much...blood? Does it...does it hurt?"

"All women get them," Laura said. "We -- Maggie, Wilma, Bridget, and me -- all get ours at the same time. You'll probably get your first one in about...three weeks, maybe a little more."

"It does hurt sometimes," Maggie said. "Cramps in the belly. But there is not too much blood, and hard work makes the cramps hurt not so much."

"Hot tea helps some, so does a warm bath," Wilma said, joining in. "I do _so_ like a warm bath." She stretched catlike, sticking her bare arms up above her head.

Maggie had continued dressing while she and the others had talked. "I have to go start the breakfast," she said. "Jane, Laura and the others, they can tell you anything more you want to know." She started towards the door. "Just remember everyone, breakfast will be ready in about a half hour."

* * * * *

"A penny for your thoughts," Arsenio said. It was late afternoon, and Laura was on waitress duty. There wasn't much of a crowd, so she'd been siting at a table near the bar when Arsenio walked over.

It took Laura a moment to realize that someone was talking to her. "Oh, hello, Arsenio. What'd you say again?"

"I offered you a penny for your thoughts," Arsenio said with a smile. "You looked like you had enough of them for me to get a good rate." His face grew serious. "What's the matter?"

"It's Jane, of course." She made a sour face. "Every time I turn around, it's 'How do I do this?' or 'Am I doing that right?' It's driving me loco."

Arsenio scratched his head. "Well, you and the others do have more experience at being women than she does."

"Yeah," Laura said, "but she don't ask the others. She says I'm her _sister_, and I _got_ to help her." She sighed. "At least she isn't grabbing at me or anybody else any more."

"What," Arsenio said, "you mean even after she got changed..."

"Even after," Laura said. "She kept groping herself, saying it was what she wanted to do t'me. I couldn't take it, so I asked Molly to make her stop."

"And did she?"

"She did; she ordered her not to be grabbing at any of us."

"Ordered?"

"Yeah. Remember, when Jane changed, the Sheriff said she had to obey him, Shamus, _and_ Molly."

"That's right; it's different for her." He thought for a moment. "I guess all of you are happy that he...she can't bother you."

"Mostly, I guess. Wilma said that Jane was still a man inside, and you know how she feels about men now." She poses and flirts with Jane; she says she enjoys the way Jane looks at her, even if she can't touch her."

"Can't Shamus or Molly do anything about that?"

"They tried, but it didn't work. Shamus says the magic of that second drink of potion Wilma had is too strong. She's got herself a...hunger for men like a bear hungers for honey."

"Sounds like Wilma is as big a problem as Jane is."

"No, she ain't. Our sentence is going to be up in a few days, and Wilma's going to go...work at _La_ _Parisienne_."

"So I've heard."

"You have, have you. Well, I won't ask _where_ you heard it."

"And I won't tell. But if your sentence is up -- and hers ain't, how is Jane still a problem?"

"'Cause I ain't leaving the Saloon. I'm staying on as waitress, and that means I'll still be sharing that room with Jane. It's bad enough during the day, but when we're in there, getting dressed or fixing ourselves up for bed, that's the worst of it."

"Can't you get someplace else to stay?"

"Where? There ain't a hotel or a boarding house in town. I suppose I could try to find a room for rent, but it ain't gonna be near as cheap as what Shamus is going to charge me."

Arsenio thought for a moment, then smiled broadly. "Why don't you come move in with me?"

"That ain't funny, Arsenio."

"It wasn't supposed to be funny. I meant it."

"Dammit, Arsenio, I thought we had it all settled. We're friends and that's all. I-I'm not interested in anything more than that."

"I know that, and I'm not suggesting anything more." 'Not now anyway,' he added to himself.

"What _exactly_ are you suggesting, then? What am I supposed to do at your smithy -- besides the obvious?"

"I told you, Laura, I ain't saying that. It'll be separate rooms. You can have my bedroom. I'll sleep on the couch in the dayroom, or I can rig up a cot in the smithy. I do it all the time when I got a rush job or in the summer when it gets too hot t'sleep in the house."

"And that's all? She looked at him suspiciously.

"Well, I guess you can clean my house some. You can cook some for me, too. You must've learned a lot helping Maggie as much as you do." He paused for a moment. "In fact, you do that, and I'll call it an even trade. You don't even have to pay any rent, just chip in some on the food."

"I don't know...people'd talk. I don't want to be known as that kind of a woman."

"What kind? You'll know that you and I ain't doing anything. I'll know, and so will Shamus and Molly and the Sheriff and the Silvermans and Whit and Carmen. Who else are you worried about, a bunch of tongue-flapping old biddies that don't have anything better to talk about?"

"No, but..."

"Now a _woman_ might worry about such things, but you keep saying that you ain't really a woman."

"Yes, but..." Damn! He was talking too fast for her to come up with any sort of argument with what he was saying.

"Besides, wouldn't anything be better that having to put up with Jane one minute more a day than you have to." He paused. "Especially not having to put up with her first thing in the morning or when you're going to bed at night."

"All right! All right!" She raised her arms in surrender.

"There y'go. It's settled then."

"No...no, it ain't. I'm not saying that I will move in with you, but I'm also not saying that I won't. I want to think about it some first." Laura wanted time to think of all the reasons why it wouldn't work. The biggest one, she knew, was the temptation that something might happen. 'Temptation,' she thought. 'I meant fear or danger...didn't I?'

Arsenio broke her train of thought. "I get the feeling that you still don't trust me, Laura."

"I didn't say that. I just...just want to think about it."

"You do that if you want. My offer stands. It stands for as long as you need."

"Thanks, Arsenio. I'll let you know soon as I decide."

* * * * *

The Friday night game had been going on for a couple hours, when Abner Slocum came to the Saloon. Bridget was dealing five card draw. Slocum got a beer from R.J. and walked over to the table next to the poker players. He pulled out a chair and sat down backwards, so that he was leaning forward over the back of the chair. He took a long drink from his beer and began watching the play.

* * * * *

"Raise a quarter," Natty Ryland said after the draw. Monk Dworkin and Marty Hernandez were already out. Hans Euler passed, but Carl Osbourne called. "Two pair," Natty Ryland said. "Nines over threes."

"Beats my two kings," Carl said. "How 'bout dealing me something better next hand, Bridget."

Bridget picked up the cards and began shuffling. "If I do, I'll have to do the same for the rest of you boys."

Monk nudged her hard in the side. "Hey, Bridget, I think you got yourself another admirer." He chuckled and pointed at Slocum.

Bridget looked across the table. "Mr. Slocum, you've been watching the game for the last twenty minutes. Would you like to play? There's room at the table."

"I...I'd rather not, Miss Kelly," Slocum said.

"Please call me Bridget," she said with a friendly smile. "Everybody does. And please do come join us."

"Sure, boss, c'mon over," Monk said.

"Ja, we'll be happy to take your money," Hans said. The other men nodded in agreement.

Slocum sighed. He'd hoped to avoid this. "All right, but only for a little while." He walked over and took a seat between Hans and Marty. "Any special house rules I should know about?"

"No," Bridget said. "This is just regular poker, nickel ante, three raises a round, quarter limit on bets, fifty cent on raises."

"None of that fancy eastern stuff...watchacallit...straights and flushes?" Slocum asked.

"I heard about them," Bridget said. "They say it makes for a different sort of game, but we don't use them."

"Glad to hear it," Slocum said. "That's the only way to play poker -- how I learned it from my Daddy."

"Amen to that," Natty said. "Let's get to it."

Bridget shuffled, while everyone tossed in a chip to ante. She checked the pot and began dealing. "Let's make it simple to start; five card draw. We'll start with you, Mr. Slocum, okay?"

"Why not?" Slocum looked at his cards. "I check."

Marty folded. "Bet 20 cents," Carl said, putting in the chips.

"See that and raise a dime," Natty said. Monk and Hans called. Slocum tossed in the extra dime to call and asked for two cards from the draw.

Carl and Hans each took three, the maximum. Monk took one.

"Carl, you opened," Bridget said.

Carl looked nervously over at Marty. "Um...check," Carl said.

Natty bet 20 cents. Monk passed. "Call," Hans said.

"Raise...15 cents," Slocum said.

Carl reached for his chips as if like he was about to see the raise, when Marty coughed. "Too rich for me," Carl said, laying down his cards.

Hans kicked in the extra chips and showed his cards, "Anybody can beat a pair of kings?"

"Not me," Natty said sourly. "I got a pair of tens."

"Two pair," Slocum said. "Nines and fives. What have you got, Carl?"

"I'm out," Carl said. "Rules say I don't have to show my cards."

"Yes, they do say that," Slocum said firmly, "but if you want to stay on my payroll, you'll show them."

"But...I-I folded; you won." Carl stammered.

"Show them," Slocum said staring straight at him.

"Okay boss, but I passed..." Carl's hands trembled as he turned over his discards. "Three Jacks. I-I got the third one on the draw."

"You need to work on your poker face," Slocum said. He sighed and stood up. "I appreciate the courtesy, Carl, but this game's over for me. Enjoy the rest of the evening, boys. He started walking away from the table.

"Mr. Slocum, sir," Monk called after him. "The money."

Slocum looked back over his shoulder. "I didn't have the winning hand." He turned back and walked over to the bar.

* * * * *

Saturday, September 16, 1871, Week 9 -- Day 2

It was just after 1 PM when Abner Slocum came into the Saloon. He walked directly over to Shamus who was working behind the bar.

"Afternoon, Abner," Shamus said. "What'll ye be having?"

"A moment of your time, Shamus," Slocum said. "A beer, too, I suppose." He glanced over towards the table where Bridget and some men were playing poker

Shamus followed Slocum's glance. "Would ye be interested in having another game, then?" He poured a beer and put it on the counter in front of Slocum.

"Yes, but not today." Slocum took a drink. He tossed a half eagle coin onto the bar. "Part of this is to pay for my beer. The rest is to reserve the poker table -- and the services of Miss Kelly -- for an hour tomorrow afternoon." He looked at his pocketwatch. "Let's say...2 o'clock."

"I normally don't charge for me table -- beyond me cut of the pot, o'course. But then, I normally don't take reservations for it neither." Shamus picked up the coin and put it in the register. "Will ye be wanting anything special for tomorrow; say, something particular to drink?"

"I'll let my guests order their own drinks, Shamus. You just give me the tab." He reached into the pocket of his frock coat, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Shamus. "And make sure you have this envelope in your pocket tomorrow when I ask for it. Oh, and have a tray of chips ready for us. This won't be a penny ante game."

"Anything else?" Shamus asked, folding the envelope and putting it in the pocket of his apron.

"Yes, don't tell anyone -- especially Miss Kelly -- anything about the game, except that it's going to happen. Or about that envelope."

"Shamus shrugged. "It's your game. We'll play it how ye want."

"Thank you, Shamus." Slocum finished his beer. "If you'll excuse me now, I've some other business to attend to." He turned and walked out if the Saloon.

* * * * *

"T'anks for the dance, Maggie," Hans Euler said as the music stopped. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Yes, that would be nice," she followed him to the bar. As she walked, she glanced around the room.

"Looking for somebody?" Hans asked. He sounded a little hurt.

"I-I am sorry, Hans," Maggie said, putting her hand on his arm. I was looking for my friend, Ramon. I have not seen him for a couple of days, and he never misses these dances."

"Ramon," Hans said. "He works for the Silvermans, nicht wahr? Tall man mit a little mustache?"

"Si, that is him." She tried not to show any concern.

By now, they'd reached the bar. "What'll ye have?" Shamus asked.

"Beer for me," Hans said, flipping a silver dollar onto the bar. "And the lady give whatever she wants."

"My...usual," Maggie said. She would have liked a beer, but she knew that Shamus wasn't going to let her get drunk while she was working.

"Why you don't ask Shamus, Maggie," Hans said. "He seems to know everyt'ing that goes on here in town."

"Ask me what?" Shamus said, putting their drinks down in front of them.

Hans took a sip of his beer. "Ask you where...umm...Ramon, Ramon deAguilar, that Me...that man what works over at Silvermans' store," Hans said. "Maggie here is worried about him." He winked. "I t'ink she's sweet on him."

"I am not," Maggie said, maybe a little too quickly. "We-we are just friends. It is nice to have someone I can talk to in my own tongue. I just have not seen him for a while, and I thought perhaps he was sick. A person has a right to worry about a friend, no?"

"I'm just teasing you, Maggie," Hans said, grinning apologetically. "Of course, you do."

"Only, ye needn't be worrying yuirself," Shamus said. "I know for a fact that he's over in Tucson on some business. He should be back in a day or two, or so I've heard."

"Dere you go," Hans said with a small smile. "Let's toast to his quick return." He raised his glass.

"To Ramon and his quick return," Maggie said, and she touched her glass to his. "And to another buen...another good friend, Hans Euler, who cared."

* * * * *

"You stop that, Sam Braddock. Stop that right now." Jane's voice rang out over the sounds of the dancing. Everyone, including the band, stopped, and Shamus hurried over to her.

"What's the trouble, Jane," he asked. "What's got ye wailing away like one of the banshees?"

"He touched my boobies," Jane said loudly, pointing at Sam. "I ain't like my sister, Laura. I don't like it when somebody touches my boobies."

"Now where did ye ever get the idea that Laura likes it?" Shamus asked.

"She told me herself," Jane said. "Just the other day."

Laura had been dancing with Blackie Easton. "You been holding out on me?" Blackie asked, grinning -- no, leering at her. "'Cause, if you do like that sort of thing, why, I'll be more'n happy to oblige."

"It's a lie," Laura said in a loud voice. "Jane, you know I never said anything like that."

"You did so," Jane said, her hands on her hips and a stubborn look on her face. "When you was learning me to dance, you said that it didn't bother you none if my boobies touched yours."

"Now _that_'d be a sight worth seeing," somebody yelled. The room filled with bawdy laughter.

Laura felt her cheeks redden. "That isn't the same thing at all."

"It is, too," Jane said. "You said it was okay for me to be touching your boobies, but I couldn't put my hand on your ass." There were a couple of catcalls and more laughter. Then Jane added, "is it 'cause you're having your monthlies? Is that why I can't touch you...down there?"

The laughter stopped. "Jane!" Laura yelled.

Jane ignored her. "Why sure, that must be it. I know you got one of them pouches on under your drawers -- just like Maggie and the others."

"That's enough, Jane," Molly said firmly. "Stop talking -- right _now_."

Jane's mouth snapped shut. She tried to talk, but all she could manage was a vague mumble.

Unfortunately, the damage was already done. "Maybe another time," Blackie said, stepping back gingerly from Laura, an unhappy expression on his face. More than a few of the men in the room had sour looks on their faces, and a few of them were leaving. The line for dance tickets was noticeably shorter. Shamus glowered at Jane and muttered something under his breath in what had to be Cheyenne.

Arsenio cut through the crowd and walked up to Laura. "You seem to be in need of a dance partner," he said. He fished a bent ticket out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

No one moved.

"Hey, Hiram," Arsenio shouted, "I just paid for a dance with Laura. You and your boys get playing -- you hear."

Hiram King, leader of the "Happy Days Town Band, looked over at Shamus. Shamus nodded, smiling for the first time in several minutes. "Play something fast and gay, Hiram," Shamus yelled. "I ain't paying you and yuir band to stand around with yuir mouths open."

Hiram motioned for the band to start. In a moment, the saloon was filled with music and the sounds of people dancing.

* * * * *

Bridget was dancing with Angel Montiero when Jane started yelling. They were dancing again, now that things had settled down. Only...Bridget began to notice that Angel was moving rather stiffly. He didn't seem to be holding her quite as close as he had before.

"Are you all right, Angel?" she asked.

"Huhn...oh, um...yeah; fine, just fine," he said.

She took a good look at his face. His usual smile was replaced by a look of grim determination. She stopped dancing. "Why don't you go get a drink or something?"

His body seemed to relax a bit. "You...you're sure you don't mind?"

"Go!" she said firmly. "I'd just as soon not dance with somebody who thinks of it as a chore."

"Okay, then," he said. As he walked away, he added, "I-I'm sorry."

Bridget sighed. "So am I." She decided to get a drink herself. 'Maybe Shamus'll let me have a real beer for once,' she thought, 'considering the circumstances.'

She took a step forward, then realized that someone was blocking her way. R.J. "Thought you might want to finish out the dance," he said with a wry smile. "I even got a ticket."

"What the hell," Bridget said, smiling just a bit. She pocketed the ticket and moved closer to him as they began to dance.

They danced for a couple minutes. R.J. was pretty good. Bridget was actually beginning to enjoy herself, when R.J. suddenly stopped.

"What's the matter?" Bridget asked. "You ain't gonna leave me, too?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," He started dancing with her again. "Take a look there over near the kitchen door."

He spun Bridget around. Wilma was walking -- tiptoeing almost -- towards the door. Clay Falk was right behind her. In fact, she was leading him by the hand. They both wore odd smiles.

"You mean Wilma and Clay? What do you think they're doing?" Bridget asked.

"I don't know, but I think we should follow them and find out," R.J. said. Still dancing, they started moving towards that part of the room. As they did, they saw Wilma and Clay go through the door, closing it behind them.

They stopped at the bar. Shamus and Molly were filling beer steins, getting ready for the next break in the dancing.

"Something's going on," R.J. said. "Wilma and --"

"Aye, I was watching, too," Shamus said. "I thought that was why ye and Bridget was coming over this way. Ye think ye can handle it?"

"Probably. I've got more'n enough help here." R.J. glanced briefly towards Bridget and smiled.

"Fine, then," Shamus said. "I'll be right here if ye do need me."

R.J. nodded. He took Bridget's hand, and they walked back, through the door and into the kitchen. The room was empty except for the pile of dirty dishes and cookware soaking in the big sink. "Maggie's Place" was open on Saturdays, same as any other night, but the last of the dishes and cookware didn't get cleaned until Sunday morning.

"No sign of them here," R.J. said, looking around. "They must've gone out into the yard."

A thought occurred to Bridget, as they walked outside. "You don't think they'd try to sneak away someplace, do you?"

"Not too likely," R.J. said. "Remember the last time Wilma tried to leave?"

"Only too well," Bridget said. "Neither of us could get our feet to work."

"Yeah," R.J. said, "but Clay's strong enough to carry her away. She'd go willingly, too, so it'd hardly be kidnapping."

"And she'd be more than willing," Bridget said, "but wouldn't it still be like...like helping somebody get out of jail?"

"Probably, but --" R.J. stopped. They heard voices from around the corner, a small area that Molly had fenced off for a garden. They slowly crept forward along the wall, listening.

"Mmm, that was _nice_," Wilma's voice was low and sultry.

"There's a lot more where it come from," Clay's voice said. "I wish we could...."

"Could what, Clay, honey," Wilma said.

"You know," Clay said, "What we done the other...are you having your monthlies, too, like Jane said?"

"I'm afraid so," Wilma said. "But that don't mean we can't still have us some good fun."

"Don't get me wrong, Wilma," Clay said. "I surely do enjoy kissing you and all, but what's the point if we can't..."

"Maybe we can't do _that_, honey," Wilma said, "but there's still a lotta things we can do."

"Like what?" He sounded curious now.

"Well, when I was a...when I was living down in New Orleans, I learned this thing called 'Magic Mouth' that you may like." Wilma giggled as she spoke. "In fact, I think you'll like it _a lot_."

"I guess," Clay said.

By now, R.J. and Bridget had reached the corner. They quickly hurried around it. Clay was leaning back against the wall, a big smile on his face, looking down. Wilma was down on her knees in front of him, working on the buttons at the front of his pants.

"Wilma," Bridget said. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Wilma looked up and smiled, her eyes half glazed. "You don't know, Bridget? Well, you just wait a minute, and I'll show you. R.J., you wait your turn, I'll do you once I finish with Clay."

"I don't think so," R.J. said. He walked over to Wilma and pulled her to her feet. "Let's go inside."

"Wait a minute," Clay said. "Who said you can just take her away."

"Yeah," Wilma said. "I do like you, R.J., but I came out with Clay. If you want something, you got Bridget there to do it to you."

"Wilma," Bridget said, stepping closer to her friend, "how can you say something like that?"

"Easy," Wilma said. "I'm getting tired of you always butting in and keeping me from having fun." She pushed Bridget away from her.

"Why you..." Bridget pushed Wilma back. In a moment, the women were grappling at each other.

"Ladies, ladies, stop it," R.J. yelled. The women ignored him. R.J. grabbed Bridget around the waist. "Clay, you grab Wilma."

Clay grabbed Wilma around the waist, and they pulled the two women apart. The pair kept grabbing for each other's hair, their hands extended like claws, and kicking with their feet.

"Now that we got them, what do we do with them?" Clay asked.

R.J. lifted Bridget off the ground and began walking back towards the kitchen door. "Get 'em inside, and maybe Shamus can order them to stop."

"I hope so," Clay said. "It's gonna _take_ magic to stop these two from scalping each other."

* * * * *

Sunday, September 17, 1871, Week 9 -- Day 3

Laura came through the kitchen door, carrying a tray full of clean glasses for under the bar. Shamus was standing by the bar, as if he were waiting for something. He didn't look happy. "I'd like to be talking to ye for a moment if ye don't mind, Laura."

"Sure, Shamus," Laura said. "I'll just put away these glasses --"

Shamus took the tray from her and set it down on the bar. "_Now_, Laura, if ye don't mind."

"Ah...okay, Shamus," Laura said, a note of uncertainty in her voice. "Wh-what did you want to talk to me about?"

Shamus frowned. "We'll talk in my office. It's more...private." He turned and began to walk purposefully towards the storeroom door. Laura watched for a moment, then hurried quickly after him.

Shamus walked into his office and sat down behind the desk. Two large account books were open on the desk. About a dozen pieces of papers covered with handwritten notes were scattered atop the books. "Close the door behind ye," he said as Laura walked in. "Ye can sit if ye want."

Laura sat. "What...is the matter, Shamus? What's this all about?"

"Tis about last night. Do ye know how much Jane's little outburst cost me?"

"No, but..."

"Too much," he pounded the desktop, shaking the books and papers. "We took in almost $300 less than we usually do. After I paid Hiram and his band, paid for the extra food that nobody ate and the beer nobody drank, I barely...just barely managed...to be breaking even."

"But people can eat the food and drink the beer today, can't they? You won't lose anything."

"Yes, I will. Some of that food goes bad very quickly, especially the fish and the cream sauce. They stayed out all night, and Maggie had to throw them out this morning. As for the beer, I've a contract with the Euler Brothers. If I tell them not to deliver me next order, 'cause me last one ain't been drunk yet, I've got to be paying them a penalty clause."

He pounded the desktop again. "But that ain't the point of this here discussion, now is it? People come to me Saloon to have a good time, not to hear someone yelling at the top of her lungs about her monthlies -- or that ye _all_ are having that little 'visitor' right now."

"I know that," Laura said. "But it was Jane that was yelling. Why are you taking it out on me?"

"Because Jane's an idiot. We both know that. Yuir job was to be keeping an eye on her, to make sure that things like what happened last night _didn't_ happen."

Laura's jaw dropped. "What you never told me that?"

"The devil I didn't," Shamus said. "When she first called ye her 'sister,' I said it was a good idea because then she'd be listening to ye better."

"Yes, but..."

"In fact, ye said it yuirself," he pointed at her. "When we was talking about ye staying on here after yuir time was up, ye said that I'd have to be paying ye extra to be keeping track of Jane."

"But I was just joking."

"I wasn't. I started ye off easy with giving her them dance lessons." He scowled. "And what happens? Ye tell her ye like for men to be touching ye breasts, and she goes and announces it to half the town." He shook his head. "Ye've never given any sign to me -- or Molly neither -- that ye liked such a thing. Have ye told Arsenio, or has he found it out for himself?"

Laura clenched her fists. She wanted to slap Shamus' face for that last remark, but the voice in her head was back on duty. Besides, there was no telling how he'd react to it.

She spoke slowly through gritted teeth. "Shamus, what..._I_ told...Jane was that it...didn't...bother me...much...when our breasts...touched while we were...dancing. That...that was _all_ I said. If..._she_ got it...wrong, if she yelled it to...high heaven...last night, that _isn't_ my fault."

"Aye, it is yuir fault," Shamus said. "I put ye in charge of her, and ye did a truly _poor_ job of it. Ye cost me money...and the good will of me customers, which is probably the more important in the long run."

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

"Ye've already done the first part. I'm docking ye $40 out of the money ye been earning all these weeks. It won't begin to pay for everything ye cost me, but 'tis a good start."

"That's not fair!" She stamped her foot for emphasis. "I may just quit working here, after all, when my sentence is over."

"I never said life was fair. I don't think ye're ready to be joining Wilma at _La Parisienne_, or going back to store clerking again, now are ye?" He took a breath. "The next thing ye'll be doing here is t'have a long talk with Jane. Ye'll tell her what she done wrong and _why_ it was wrong."

"Is that all?" The way he'd phrased it, she didn't really have a choice.

"No, I'd like an apology." There was no order in that statement. He was giving her a choice, and they both knew it.

Laura sighed. "Shamus, I'm not sure you deserve one, but you _have_ always been fair with us, so...okay, I apologize."

Shamus smiled -- just a little. "Not very heartfelt, but I suppose I'll accept it. Consider yuirself docked only $35."

"How do I get the rest of the money back?"

"Ye'll work with Jane, work hard t'teach her how to behave. Even if ye have to work with her morning, noon, and night t'do it. Ye do that for me, and ye'll get back that money I took."

Laura shuddered at the words. "I'm going _have_ to work with her that much to make a lady out of her."

"Ye probably are," Shamus said firmly. "Now get back t'work. I've bookkeeping to be doing, and there's only so much red ink in this world." He picked up a pen, waving with the other hand to dismiss her.

* * * * *

"Call," Blackie Easton said, tossing in a quarter. "Three ladies." He put down his hand.

"Finny" Pike was the only other player still in the game. "Damn, Blackie, I was sure you was bluffing." He tossed his cards onto the table. "Take the pot, you lucky SOB."

Bridget looked up at the clock. "I'm afraid that's it for now, fellas."

"What d'you mean?" Joe Ortlieb asked. "Why can't we keep playing?"

"Ask your boss, Joe," Bridget said as she gathered in the cards. "Mr. Slocum reserved the table -- with me as dealer -- for a 2 o'clock game."

"It ain't 2 yet," Finny said.

"Close enough," Bridget said. "There isn't time for another hand."

"Damn, straight," Joe said. "Here comes Slocum now."

"And look who he's got with him," Fred Nolan said. "This is gonna be one high stakes poker game."

Bridget looked up. Slocum was walking towards the table with Shamus, Whit Whitney, and a couple of men she didn't recognize at first. One was an older man, well dressed and an air of dignity. The other was a Negro, a muscular man in working clothes. She recognized the Negro now, from Phil Trumbell's trial. He worked for...no, he was Slocum's foreman. The other man was Dwight Albertson, manager of the local branch of the Wells Fargo Bank. He came into the Saloon occasionally for a drink, but he'd never sat in at the poker table.

The card players quickly stood up. "Afternoon, Mr. Slocum," Finny said. "We...we was just finishing."

"Sorry to break up your game, boys," Slocum said. "Shamus, when you're done here, please give each of these men a drink on me."

"Thank you, sir," Joe said with a smile. "Always said you was a gentleman."

"Umm, yeah," Slocum said, acknowledging the compliment with an absent nod and a sidewise motion of his left hand. He turned to Shamus. "Set the chips down, if you would, Shamus."

Bridget noticed that Shamus was carrying a small cashbox. He set it on the table and opened it. Besides the tray for bills, there was a second tray with rows of white, red, and blue poker chips.

The men sat down around the table. Slocum sat across from Bridget. "Miss Kelly, if you would do the honors, please give each player 10 white chips, 20 red, and 10 blue." Bridget nodded and began to count out chips.

"By the way, Miss Kelly," Slocum said, "do you know all of these gentlemen?"

"I know Whit...Mr. Whitney, sitting here next to me, and you, of course. I've seen the other two, but I never really met them."

"Allow me, then, allow me to make formal introductions. The gentleman on my left is Dwight Albertson, the manager of the Eerie City Bank." He pointed. "Lucius Freeman is on my right, as one might expect of my ranch foreman." The two men nodded in turn.

"Pleased to meet you both," Bridget said with a smile. She began passing piles of chips around the table.

"As is usual, gentlemen," Slocum said. "White chips are a dollar; red are five, and blue are ten. Three raises per round. We settle up at the end of the game." He glanced over at Bridget. "Miss Kelly, you seem to have forgotten something."

"Mr. Slocum?" Bridget asked, furrowing her eyebrow. "I'm sure that everything is in order."

"Then where are _your_ chips?"

"Mu...mine?" Bridget was at a loss for words. "I don't play, sir. I-I'm just the dealer for these games."

Slocum smiled. Bridget wasn't sure that she liked his smile. "Not today, Miss Kelly. Today, you're a _player_, or are you afraid that you can't handle it?"

Bridget felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Common sense said to refuse, to ask Shamus to get her off the hook, but his bland look told her that this was some kind of test. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. Brian Geoffrey Kelly had never backed down in a poker game, and he -- she wasn't going to start now that her name was _Bridget_ Kelly.

She glowered at Slocum for a moment, then counted out her chips. "Who deals?"

Slocum made a flourish in her direction with his hand. "'Ladies first', I always say."

"Ante up then," Bridget said as she shuffled then dealt out the cards. "Five card draw, Jacks or better to open." She looked at her own cards. Damn! A pair of tens and a pair of fours.

They tossed their chips into the center of the table. Whit opened with $10, and Albertson called.

"Let's play some poker," Slocum said, putting down two blue chips. "Raise $10."

"I'm out." Freeman tossed his cards onto the table. Bridget called. Albertson and Slocum each raised $10.

Bridget thought about letting them fight it out for the first pot, just to get an idea of the way they played. 'Not with two pair,' she thought and tossed in two red chips.

Albertson took three cards, an optimist. Slocum took two. Bridget traded a useless ace for a useless five.

"You open, Mr. Albertson," Bridget said.

Albertson made a sour face. "No, I fold."

"Then I'll open," Slocum said. "$20."

Bridget wanted to see if she could shake him. "Raise that." She took a breath and tossed $40 into the pot.

"And right back at you." Slocum put in $40.

"You've got three of something," Bridget said. "Take it." She sighed put down her cards.

"Thank you, Miss Kelly," Slocum said, "but I'm afraid you overestimate my luck. He laid down his cards, king, ten, a pair of nines, and a four.

"You...you faked my two pair with a pair of nines!" Bridget shook her head and revised her estimation of Slocum.

"Same game, new dealer," Whit said, shuffling the cards. "Five card draw."

They each tossed in a chip as Whit dealt. Albertson checked. Slocum bet $10, and Freeman called.

Bridget looked at her cards. Somebody up in Heaven was playing games. She had two pair again, this time jacks and fives. "I need to get some of my money back. Raise $10."

This time, Whit called and Albertson folded. Slocum took the second raise. Freeman called. Bridget took the last raise. Slocum called, and Freeman dropped out.

Slocum drew two cards. Bridget traded a six of hearts for...the third jack! She allowed herself a very slight smile. "Shall we continue, Mr. Slocum?"

"$20," Slocum said tossing in a chip.

Bridget raised $20, and Slocum matched her. "You're gonna have to fight for it," he said.

"No problem," Bridget said. "$20 and $20 more."

"Prove it," Slocum said, raising again.

"If you want to lose that much," Bridget said with a shrug, "who am I to stop you?" She put in four blue chips, leaving her with a single one. 'Do or die,' she thought.

Slocum smiled and called. He put down his cards, two nines, two fours, and a seven. "I got the second four in the draw," he said as he reached for the pile of chips.

"Why that's when I got the _third_ jack," Bridget said, putting her hand lightly on his arm. "They go so well with the pair of fives. Full house, Mr. Slocum."

Slocum bowed his head to her. "Well done, Miss Kelly. There's almost $300 in that pot, a fine comeback."

Albertson gathered in the cards. "The way I'm playing, it's a good thing I'm not using the bank's money." He shuffled the cards and added. "Five card stud this hand. Maybe a change of game will change my luck." He waited for everyone to ante, then dealt two cards, one up and one down to each player. Five card stud was a form of "open" poker with "one" hole card face down, and the other four "show" cards dealt face up.

Slocum's show card was a 5 of hearts. Freeman held a four of diamonds, and Bridget had a king of diamonds. Whit got an eight of spades, and Alberston had a 9 of diamonds showing.

"You're high, Bridget," Albertson said.

"Open for five." Bets were usually smaller in stud poker since there were twice as many rounds of betting.

Slocum looked at his hole card. "Not this hand," he said, putting down his cards. Freeman also folded.

Whit called. Albertson tossed in a blue chip. "Raise."

"Fold," Whit said sourly.

"Looks like it's just you and me," Albertson said. He dealt her the jack of hearts, giving himself the 5 of spades. "You're still high, Bridget."

She bet another five and he called. This time, she got the 7 of clubs, and he got an 8 of diamonds. "My bet," he said tossing another red chip into the pot.

"Let's put some action into it," Bridget said. "Raise you five." Albertson called. For the last cards, he dealt Bridget the 5 of clubs and dealt himself the jack of diamonds.

"My turn," Albertson said with a smile. "Bet five."

"You're not going to get this pot without a fight," Bridget said. "Raise."

Albertson thought for a moment, then tossed down his cards. "I'm not going to invest any more good money just to find out if you've got a pair of kings or a pair of jacks."

Bridget turned over her hole card. "Just for the record, Mr. Albertson, it was jacks." She felt her breath tighten as she collected her chips. The way the game was going, the way she was winning, another hand or two, and she'd have the money for that table she wanted. 'Only why is Slocum doing this?' she asked herself. Was it like Monk had jokingly suggested, that she had picked up a new admirer? Bridget hoped not; she didn't want to feel like a charity case and adding a third suitor to the two she already had was a complication her life didn't need.

Slocum certainly wasn't going to tell her anything. He smiled wryly as he gathered in the cards and began to shuffle. "Let's get back to some draw poker. Everybody ante up." The men tossed in their chips as he began to deal.

Bridget watched the cards for a moment. It couldn't be. Yes, she was sure. "You showing off for a reason, Mr. Slocum?"

Slocum stopped in mid-deal and looked directly at her. "Whatever do you mean, Miss Kelly?" He grinned as if daring her to continue.

"You're good, Mr. Slocum, but I still caught it." She looked at the men around the table, all there at Slocum's invitation and took a deep breath. "You're dealing seconds."

"Do you know what you're saying, Miss Kelly?" Slocum asked.

"Mr. Slocum is one of the most respected men in town, Bridget," Whit cautioned her. "Are you sure you aren't mistaken."

Bridget shook her head. "I'm sure." Lordy, she hoped she was right. She didn't need an enemy as powerful as Abner Slocum. What was worse, he was Cap's uncle, which bothered her for a reason she couldn't quite understand.

Slocum looked over towards the bar. "Perhaps Shamus should be here for this discussion." He made a gesture that Shamus caught, and the barman hurried over.

"What seems to be the problem?" Shamus asked.

"Miss Kelly has just accused Abner Slocum of cheating at cards," Albertson said coldly. "Perhaps you should have a word with her about such impertinence towards your customers."

"It's all right, Dwight," Slocum said, "though I do thank you for your concern." He turned to Shamus. "Do you have that envelope I gave you yesterday, Shamus?"

"Yes, sir," Shamus said. He pulled the folded envelope out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Slocum.

Slocum handed it to Albertson. "Dwight, would you please open this and read us all the note that you'll find inside?"

Albertson nodded. He took the envelope and tore it open. "It's dated 'Saturday, September 16' -- yesterday. Ahhh, 'Let it be it known that at tomorrow's' -- that would be today's -- 'at tomorrow's poker game, I intend to deal seconds the first time I am given the cards.' And that's Abner's signature. I've seen it more than enough times to recognize it."

"It ain't cheatin' if he tells us ahead a time," Freeman said.

"No, I don't believe that it is," Albertson said.

"I suppose not," Bridget said sourly, " but I, for one, would like to know what sort of game you're playing here, Mr. Slocum."

"Just what I said, Miss Kelly," Slocum said. He looked like a cat with a jar of cream. "Five card draw poker." He sat down and motioned for the others to do likewise. "Shall we continue?" He took back the cards and reshuffled. Bridget watched him like a chickenhawk as he dealt out five new hands.

"In for ten," Freeman said. Bridget called. She had two pair, but they were low cards, threes and fives. She was still a little suspicious.

Whit raised. "Pfaaa, nothing," Albertson said putting down his cards.

"Well, I've got something," Slocum said. "I raise." Freeman and Bridget called. Whit took the last raise. Slocum and Freeman called.

Bridget looked at her hand. Two pair wasn't bad, but the way Whit and Freeman were fighting for the pot, either or both of them had her beat. "Thirty dollars is enough to throw away," she said. "Fold."

Freeman turned out to have a full house, jacks over sixes, but Whit held four sevens. He took a pot with over $300 in it.

Bridget was happy to have gotten out at such a low cost, but she couldn't help sighing at the size of Whit's winnings.

Slocum looked at the clock. "It's about 2:50," he said. "I think we should give the table back." He looked at the others. "Any objections?"

"I wouldn't mind another hand or two," Whit said, "but I suppose you're right."

"Then let's settle up," Albertson said. "I'll do the honors." He sat at the table. Each man tossed a stack of bills, $210 each, onto the table. Slocum's stack was twice as thick. Albertson sorted the bills into piles. "All right, I'll buy back those chips now."

Each man turned in his chips for the cash equivalent. Bridget watched Albertson count out $321 for her. 'Yes!' she thought, 'more than enough for that table.' Except... She sighed and counted out $210. "Thanks for the loan, Mr. Slocum."

Slocum smiled and cheerfully took the money from her. "A pleasure to watch you work, Miss Kelly."

His cheeriness was beginning to get to her. "I hope you found out whatever it was you done all this for," she said, her voice icy.

"Oh, I did, Miss Kelly," Slocum said. "Believe me, I surely did." He tipped his hat and walked over to settle his bill with Shamus.

Bridget grimaced and sat down. With what she'd won today and what Shamus said she'd earned, she had almost $200. Another couple months and... She groaned at the thought of working for Shamus for "another couple months" until she could rent that table. Still, it would have been a lot longer if not for Abner Slocum. She knew she should be grateful, but she hated this strange game that he was playing with her.

* * * * *

"Morning, noon, and night." Laura sat near the bar thinking about what Shamus had said. It sounded like a prison sentence.

And there was no alternative. Shamus was right. 'I _don't_ want to work in some store,' Laura thought. 'I had _years_ too much of that back East.' Somehow, the idea of working for another saloon in town -- working for someone who was Shamus' competition -- didn't seem right, either.

'Nobody says I can't leave Eerie,' she thought. 'There's thousands of saloons out here.' She shook her head. A lot of those saloons were other _things_ as well. The female help did a lot of their work on their backs in a bed. 'There is _no_ way I'll do _that_!' Then she realized that, without the money Shamus had taken, she probably didn't have enough to get out of Eerie. 'Most likely not even enough to live on while I look for a job somewhere else.'

There was something else. Leaving Eerie would mean leaving her friends, leaving.... She sighed. "Oh, Lord, for a good stiff drink right now."

"Laura," came a voice.

'Speak of the devil,' Laura thought. She turned. "Yes, Jane, what do you want?"

"Shamus says I gotta apologize to you for last might, but he didn't say why." Jane said, a puzzled look on her face. "Do you know why?"

Laura felt the bile rise in her stomach. "You don't know? Good grief, Jane, think back to what happened last night."

Jane scratched her head. "There was the dance. I danced with a lot of men, and they all said I done good. You're a good teacher, Laura."

"What else?" Laura said. "What about Sam Braddock?"

"What about -- oh, yeah! I danced with him." She frowned. "He kept touching me, and, finally, I told him not to."

"And..." Lord, it was like pulling teeth.

"There was a lot of yelling for a little while. Then some of the men left, and Shamus got mad." She paused for a bit. "What was that all about, anyway?"

Laura groaned. "Sit down, Jane. We're going to have a _long_ talk about what happened last night."

Jane glanced over at the clock. It was almost 3:30. "I can't right now. I gotta go help Maggie with supper." She started to walk away then stopped. "We'll talk about it later. That's the great part of us sharing a bedroom. We can have us nice long talks every night before we go to bed. We'll tell each other all sorts of stuff. Won't that be fun?" She hurried off to the kitchen.

"Share...a...room," Laura said, almost painfully, as she thought about what Jane had said to her. "Every...night." She took a breath. "I'll either go crazy or kill her -- maybe both -- within a month."

* * * * *

Arsenio came in for a drink about 5:30.

Laura had swapped jobs with Wilma, so she could talk to him instead of serving the dinner customers. She'd found herself fidgeting as she waited for him.

He walked over to her, looking tired from the day's work. "Arsenio, am I glad to see you," she said.

Arsenio brightened. "Do you mean it, Laura?"

Laura suddenly felt odd, uncertain about what she was doing. "Yes, I...I was wondering if that...offer of yours was still good."

"I said it would be, didn't I?" he asked.

She studied his expression. "And there aren't any...strings, right? You aren't expecting any special..."

"I'm expecting you to do some of the cleaning and the cooking," he said. "Just like we talked about."

"And that's...all you're expecting?"

"That's _all_ I'm expecting," he said firmly. He hesitated as if he wanted to add something else.

She put her hands on her hips. "Those separate rooms better still be part of the deal, too."

"The bedroom's yours," he said with a smile. For a moment, he saw her in his mind, draped across his bed, smiling up at him. "I'll fix myself someplace else to sleep."

"I still don't know," she said. "If Jane wasn't such a damned nuisance..."

"Do you want some more time to think about it?" He didn't want to sound anxious.

"Yes...no! Hell, let's do it." She felt like she was jumping off a cliff. "If it don't work out, I can always move back to the Saloon."

"I'll even help you move back if that's what you decide you want."

"Then you got yourself a deal. I'll move in when my time's up here on Tuesday." Part of her felt relief at the thought of escaping Jane, if only for just a few hours a day. Part of her felt...something else.

* * * * *

Shamus was standing at the entrance to the roped-off area that was Maggie's restaurant. "I see ye switched jobs with Wilma tonight," he said when Laura walked up to him. "Would ye care to be telling me why?"

"I...I needed to do something," Laura said. "Is it a problem?"

"Not really," Shamus said. "Just be giving me a little more warning if...when ye do it again." He paused for a beat. "What was it that ye had to do, if ye don't mind me asking? Ye weren't out job hunting after our little talk today, were ye?"

"No, Shamus," Laura said. "I'll work for you, but you can forget about that 'morning, noon, and night' thing with Jane."

Now Shamus was curious. "What exactly do ye mean?"

"There's a limit to how much I can put up with from Jane...or from you after how you acted this afternoon. I'll work for you, Shamus, but I won't be living here, not after Tuesday, anyway."

"Where will ye live, then?" he asked. "There's not a decent room in town; not one ye can afford on a bargirl's wages, anyway."

"Arsenio offerd me space at his house -- and wipe that leer off your face _right now_; it isn't like _that_." She looked at him; her eyebrows furrowed till they almost touched. "I wasn't going to accept, but -- between Jane _and_ you -- I've got two damned good reasons for taking him up on his offer."

* * * * *

Monday, September 18, 1871, Week 9 -- Day 4

"May I join you, Miss Kelly?"

Bridget looked up from the solitaire game she was playing. It was early afternoon, and only a few people were in the Saloon. "Mr. Slocum," she said. "You back for another game?"

"No," the rancher replied. "I have a proposition for you." He glanced down at an empty chair. "May I?"

"Why not," Bridget said with a shrug.

Slocum sat down. "Thank you." He looked around until he caught the eye of Wilma, who was on waitress duty. Then he lifted an arm and motioned for her to come over.

"Anything you got a hankering for?" Wilma asked, her voice low and suggestive.

Slocum ignored the suggestion. "Beer for me and whatever the lady here will have."

"What lady?" Wilma asked sarcastically. She was still mad at Bridget for interfering with her and Clay two nights before. They'd almost started brawling again while they were getting dressed the next morning. Only Shamus' order, yelled from the hall outside their room, had stopped them. They were still just barely civil to each other.

"A beer, please, _waitress_," Bridget answered. She was just as mad, but she was determined not to make a scene in front of Slocum.

"Ask Shamus to come over, if you would," Slocum said to Wilma. "Tell him I'm buying." Wilma nodded and sauntered off, hips swinging, and still watching for Slocum's reaction out of the corner of her eye.

"What's this about, Mr. Slocum?" Bridget asked. "If it's about yesterday's game..."

"It is," Slocum said, "but probably not in the way you think. You're very good, Miss Kelly."

"So are you, Mr. Slocum," Bridget said. "Where exactly does a cattle rancher learn to deal seconds the way you did?"

"Now, that's a long story," Slocum said, leaning back in his chair. "My daddy had a plantation over in Arkansas. I misspent a good part of my youth traveling the River with him down to N'Orleans for one thing or th'other." He paused, remembering. "Daddy truly loved to play poker, and I grew up friends with some the very men -- honest and otherwise -- that invented the game."

"If you enjoy it that much, why didn't you stick with it?" Bridget asked.

"I grew up," he said, then hurriedly added, "No offense to you, Miss Kelly."

"None taken," Bridget said, "and it's 'Bridget'...please."

"Thank you, Bridget," Slocum said, bowing his head slightly, "and I'm Abner." Bridget nodded. "I just had other things that were more...necessary. Then, of course, the War interrupted life for everyone." He sighed. "I still do enjoy a good game now and again, especially with someone as skillful and as attractive as yourself."

Bridget smiled at the compliment. "Thank you...Abner. I'd invite you to play now, but I'm afraid it would have to be for much lower stakes than yesterday."

"Another time perhaps," he said. "Right now we have other -- ah, here comes Shamus, and bringing the drinks himself, no less."

"I thought I'd save Wilma the trip," Shamus said, setting down a tray with three steins. "Here's yuirs, Bridget." He handed her one of the beers, a sign that it was the 'near beer' she and the other women drank when they were working.

"That's probably for the best," Bridget said. She had no interest in being anywhere near again Wilma so soon, and Shamus saw no point in bringing the two within range of each other until they cooled down.

"I thought so," Shamus said, sitting down. "Now what's all this about, Abner?"

Slocum took a quick sip of beer. "I have a proposition for Miss Kelly...for Bridget. Since it involves you, too, Shamus, and since I thought she might want a witness, I asked you to come over."

"What's your proposition, Abner?" Bridget asked curiously, taking a drink. Blast! It was the fake beer.

"I understand you need money, Bridget...$2 or $300 to rent a table from Shamus here and run your own poker game. Is that true?"

"Uhh...yes," Bridget said in surprise, "but I already told Cap I wouldn't take a loan. I-I'd rather wait till I could earn it myself than take charity. With what I won yesterday, I've got nearly enough...just another month or two..."

"Very commendable, Bridget," Slocum said, "but I'm not offering charity."

"What _are_ you offering, Abner," Bridget said, her expression turning wary. "For that matter, what are you asking?"

"A business arrangement," Slocum said, firmly, "nothing more." He paused for a moment. "Are you familiar with the concept of a grubstake?"

"Yes," she said suspiciously.

"That's what I'm offering," Slocum said. "I'll give you $250 to rent the table the first month. In return, I get a quarter of your winnings until I'm paid back -- plus another $250. Based on the way you played yesterday, you should be able to do that in under a year."

"Congratulations, Bridget," Shamus said happily. "Looks like ye get that table of yuirs. I'll give ye the terms we talked about the other day; no dicker."

"Hold it, Shamus," Bridget said, still on guard. "I never was one for 'gift horses.' Why are you doing this...Abner?"

Slocum smiled wryly. "For one thing, so I know that there's a good game in town any time I get the urge to play. For another, after yesterday, I consider it a _very_ good investment. As for the third, well, I think two reasons should be good enough."

"I'd surely say so," Shamus said. "As reasons go, them two are as pretty a pair as I've ever heard. Don't ye agree, Bridget?"

"Not completely," Bridget said, then she smiled and offered her hand, "but they'll do. You've got a deal, Abner; you, too, Shamus."

Slocum shook her hand. So did Shamus. "Excellent," Slocum said. "You'll pay me monthly, last day of the month, if that's all right." He waited until she nodded in agreement. "Since he's in here a lot more than I am, I'll have Matthew...Cap pick up the money."

"Fine with me," Bridget said. Somehow, she liked the idea of having a sort of formal relationship with Cap, a legitimate reason for him to spend more time at the Saloon. Then a thought occurred to her. "I'm not going to have to let Cap win, am I?"

"Certainly not!" Slocum said, taking a drink. "What he wins is _his_ money, but 25 percent of what _you_ win from him is _mine_."

* * * * *

"Shhh," Ramon said to the others in the yard behind the saloon. He winked at them and knocked on the kitchen door.

"Come in," Maggie called from inside. "I am working with dough, and my hands are too sticky to open the door."

"Then I will open it," Ramon said in Spanish. He walked into the kitchen, smiling. Maggie was sitting at the table, cutting smaller pieces off of a large lump of dough in a bowl. She rolled each piece into a ball and stuck it on a floured baking tray. "How are you today, Margarita?"

Maggie spun around at the sound of his voice. "Ramon!" She took a step towards him, smiling, arms open wide, then hesitated and lowered her arms. "I...I am...glad to see you." She answered in Spanish, then looked down at the baking trays. "We're going to have rolls tonight at the restaurant."

"Be sure you make enough," Ramon said. "There's going to be a lot of people there this evening, a lot of people." He paused for a moment. "Some you do not even expect."

"What do you mean, Ramon? Why are you being so mysterious?"

"Because I have a surprise for you." He paused for a breath. "I am glad you are already sitting down."

"What...what do you mean?"

"You can come in now."

The door sprang open. Two small, dark children ran into the room, a slender boy and a shorter girl carrying a rag doll. "Pappa, Pappa," they called.

Maggie's face went as white as the dough on her apron. "Er-Ernesto, Lupe."

The children ran over to her, hugging and kissing her. Maggie came out of her shock and returned the hugs and kisses, tears running down her cheeks. "How...how is this possible?"

Molly and Shamus walked in through the back door, shutting it behind them. "Ramon just fetched them from Tucson. That's where he's been these last few days, waiting for their stage t'arrive."

"You...you all do this for me," Maggie asked, switching back to English. "Why?"

"Tis a bribe," Shamus said. "Nothing more."

"A bribe," Maggie said. "I-I do not understand."

"An investment, then," Shamus said. "After what ye said the other day, I knew that there's really nothing to be keeping ye here in Eerie and at me Saloon. When yuir sentence is up, which it will be tomorrow, ye could leave, partners or no. Ah, but if yuir wee children was here with ye, and ye all living in a house that meself co-signed the mortgage on. _Then_ ye'd have to stay, and we could go on getting rich off yuir cooking."

Molly walked over and hugged Maggie -- and the two children who would not be moved an inch from her. "Actually, we're just selfish, Maggie. We like ye, and we wanted ye to stay around. Even if ye didn't keep the restaurant."

"Ah, there's the beauty of it," Shamus chuckled. She'll have to be working to pay for the house."

"House?" Maggie said, hearing him for the first time. "What house?"

"Well, ye can't be having two little ones living in a saloon," Molly said. "So we bought the Tucker house, a few blocks from here."

"Actually, ye bought it -- or ye will as soon as ye sign the papers over t'the bank," Shamus said. "I just co-signed the mortgage.

"We saw it. It is a pretty house," Lupe said in Spanish, "with bedrooms for Ernesto and me."

"Ramon suggested the house," Molly said. "He seems to want you to stay here in Eerie, too. I guess he just wants somebody other than them Mexican cowboys that shop at Silverman's to practice his Spanish on."

"Something like that," Ramon said with a shy smile.

"Aye," Shamus said. "He wrote the letter to your sister and brother-in-law and helped with the arrangements. He met the children when they got off the stage in Phoenix and brought them back by wagon, too."

"Please, Pappa," Ernesto said in Spanish. "We want to stay with you?"

"Pappa," Maggie said with a snort. "Look at me. How can I be your Poppa?"

"Uncle Ramon said --" Ernesto said.

"_Uncle_ Ramon?" Maggie interrupted.

"Si," Ernesto continued. "He said it was easier than to be calling him Señor deAguilar. Uncle Ramon said that children our age need a mother. That was why you leave me and Lupe with Aunt Juana and Uncle Luis. But he said you miss us so much that you let them turn you into a woman so _you_ could be our mother, and we could come live here with you."

"Aunt Juana showed us some pictures of Momma," Lupe said, "and you look just like her; you are so pretty."

"That is what I keep telling her," Ramon said. "Maybe she will believe it when you two say it."

"But who will watch the children when I am working?" Maggie asked, hoping to hear a good answer.

"They'll be in school a good part of the day," Ramon said, trying to be helpful, "at least Ernesto will. Lupe has a year or two before she's old enough.

"And I never did hear of a child that wasn't allowed to be staying in his -- or her -- mother's kitchen," Molly added.

"Aye," Shamus said, "but she won't have a kitchen -- here or over at the Tucker place -- unless she signs them papers."

Maggie hugged her children, pulling them in close, so she could feel them against her, so she could know that they were really there. "Let me finish making these rolls. Then we go over to the bank. I will sign. I will sign whatever they want. But Señora Molly, you or somebody is going to have to watch the kitchen for a little while after that."

"Why is that, Maggie, dear?" Molly asked.

Maggie looked up, her face a broad smile even as tears ran down her cheeks. "Because I need some time to take my children...home."

* * * * *

Tuesday, September 19, 1871, Week 9 -- Day 5

Shamus looked at his pocket watch. "One o'clock; where's the Judge?"

"Do we really need him?" Dan asked. "He never had to be on hand when I was letting anybody else out of my jail."

"Aye," Shamus said, "but there ain't nothing regular about these jailbirds."

"Or about their jail." The Judge finished the thought as he walked in through the swinging doors of the saloon. "Sorry to be late. Where are the ladies?"

"Maggie's in the kitchen, as always this time of day," Shamus said. "Jane's in there with her. The rest are around, here 'n' there." He pulled a whistle from his apron pocket and put it to his lips. "This'll get 'em running," he said and blew two long shrill notes.

Bridget looked up from the cards she was dealing at a nearby table. "I'm working, Shamus. I'll be there in a minute, okay?" Shamus nodded, and she went back to the cards.

Laura walked over, still carrying a tray with several empty glasses. Maggie and Jane came out of the kitchen, and Wilma hurried down from the second floor.

"Jane, this don't concern ye," Shamus said. "Go back to the kitchen and don't be making a mess; just finish up whatever it was ye was doing."

"Molly is in the kitchen also, Shamus," Maggie said. "She can watch Jane until I come back."

Bridget finished dealing. "You're on your own for this hand, fellas. I'll be back as quick as I can." She stood up and walked over to the others. "What's this about, Shamus?"

"I'll let the Judge tell ye," Shamus said with a smile.

"Ladies," the Judge began, "on July 21, 1871, I sentenced you to 60 days servitude at the Eerie Special Offenders Penitentiary."

"Yeah, we know," Wilma said.

Bridget jabbed her in the side. "Don't you get it, Wilma? This is the Judge's way of saying that our sentences are up right this minute."

"Exactly," the Judge said. "Congratulations, ladies. You're free to go."

Wilma threw her arms around the Judge. "I know where I'm going. I start tonight at Lady Cerise's." She kissed the Judge, pulling him down to her. To everyone's surprise, Judge Humphreys didn't try to push her way. The kiss went on for a good minute, and even then, it was Wilma who ended it. "You be sure to come and see me there, Judge, you hear me."

"Wilma!" Bridget said, "A man of the Judge's standing wouldn't be caught in a place like that."

Wilma giggled. "I know that Bridget. Cerise says he's very careful, and nobody's _ever_ caught him there."

The Judge harrumphed and untangled himself from Wilma's arms. "Do you ladies have any questions about anything?"

"I do," Laura said. "You just said we're free. We ain't. Just because our time's up doesn't mean that we're any freer than we were yesterday as far as having to do anything the Sheriff or Shamus tells us to do. What are you going to do about that, _Your Honor_"

The Judge shrugged. "I'm sorry, Laura...and the rest of you, but the effect of magic potions is a little out of my line."

"I've been talking to the Doc, Judge," Shamus said. "He gave me and the Sheriff a couple of ideas, and one of them may be the answer Laura's wants."

"So try one," Laura said.

"Yeah," Wilma said. "We ain't got all day."

"All righty, then," Shamus said. "I order ye not to obey me any more unless ye want to."

"The same for me, ladies," the Sheriff said. "I order you not to obey me either unless it's something you want to do."

"I feel a little funny," Wilma said, blinking her eyes repeatedly, as if she'd been staring at the sun. "Did it work?"

"Let's be finding out," Shamus said. "Wilma, sit down on the floor and make noise like a frog."

"I..I don't..." Wilma shook her head. She put a hand to her forehead, as if she were dizzy. Then she dropped to the floor.

"Ribbet! Ribbit!" Wilma shuddered as she continued making the croaking sound. She looked up at Shamus in desperation.

"Wilma, I order you to obey me," Shamus said. Now stop making that blasted noise and stand up."

Wilma sighed in relief. She closed her mouth and slowly got to her feet.

"Well, that certainly didn't work," Bridget said. "Are you all right, Wilma?"

"No, I ain't, Shamus," Wilma said. "That was a lousy thing for you t'do to me."

"Ye were the one that was in such a hurry," Shamus said.

"Excuse me," Bridget interrupted. "Before you try anything else big like that, Shamus, can you just fix it so we don't have to come whenever you blow that whistle or yours? It was all I could do to finish dealing that hand of poker before I _had_ to come over."

"Yes," Maggie said. "The last time you use the whistle, the supper almost burn before I could go back to the kitchen."

"Fix it so we can leave the saloon when we want, too," Laura said.

"Yeah," Wilma added, "I don't want my legs to go out on me like they did that one time."

"All right, ladies," Shamus said, "ye don't have to answer this whistle of mine any more, and you're free to leave me saloon anytime ye want to."

"What about being able to fight somebody?" Wilma asked, a determined look on her face. "Don't forget that one."

"Fighting people ain't exactly gonna be yuir new line of work, now is it, Wilma," Shamus said, "but ye're right. Okay, ye ladies can do that, can fight people, from now on -- except, ye can't to anything to get back at the Sheriff or the Judge or me or Molly for changing ye into women in the first place."

"Don't you trust us, Shamus?" Bridget asked.

"As much as ye trusted me, Bridget," Shamus said. "As much as all of ye ladies trusted me."

"Is that it?" Laura asked.

"No, Wilma," the Sheriff said. "There's one more thing, one '_big_' thing t'quote Bridget. All of you look me straight in the eye." The five women did. He pulled a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and began to read. "I order that, from now on, you will obey no order from me unless I start it with the words, 'I, Dan Talbot, the Sheriff of Eerie, do hereby order you to obey this command.' Do you all hear what I just said?"

"We hear you," Wilma said. "What the hell does it mean?"

"It means it'll be my turn now," Shamus said, taking the paper from the Sheriff. "All of ye ladies look at me and listen." He waited while the women turned to face him, then began to read. "I order the same thing, that ye ladies won't do anything I tell ye unless I'm first saying, 'I, Shamus O'Toole, owner of the Eerie Saloon, do hereby order you to obey this command.' Did ye all hear them pretty words? The Doc wrote 'em for us."

"We all hear them, Shamus," Maggie said. "But what do they mean to us?"

"Well, Maggie, flap yuir arms and cluck like a chicken," Shamus said firmly. Maggie just stood, looking at him.

The Sheriff looked directly at Bridget. "Hop on one foot and bark like a dog."

"Are you crazy?" Bridget said. Then the truth hit her. "I'm...we're not doing it! We're...free!" She smiled, tears beginning to run down her cheeks.

"Aye," Shamus said. "A few minutes ago, and Maggie and ye would've been making damned fools of yourselves doing what we told ye to do."

"Yahoo!" Laura shouted.

"Actually, you're not free, ladies," the Judge interrupted.

"Sure we is," Wilma said. "They told Bridget and Maggie to do something, and the two of them didn't do it."

"No," the Judge said. "They obeyed completely. Shamus and Dan told you to only do what they told you, when they said all that gibberish up front."

"I understand," Maggie said. "They did not say those special words, so we did not have to do it."

"Exactly," the Judge said. "Simply telling you not to obey didn't work because the potion makes you want to obey."

Shamus nodded. "The Doc thought just telling ye wouldn't work, even if he did use a lot of medical words to say why not."

"This way, you _are_ obeying," the Sheriff said. "Obeying the order _not_ to obey unless we use them code words, first."

Wilma was standing next to the Sheriff. She grabbed him and gave him a long kiss before he finally managed to push her away. "That's for being so smart," she said coyly. She turned and walked purposefully towards Shamus. "You, too."

Shamus backed away. "Thank ye, Wilma, but I'm afraid that I'm smart enough to know not to be kissing ye when me own wife is in the next room."

* * * * *

"Gimme a beer, R.J.," Milt Quinlan said, leaning against the bar.

Davy Kitchner tossed a silver dollar onto the bar. "It's on me, R.J."

"Thanks, Davy," Milt said. R.J. served the beer, and Milt paused to take a drink. "Now, what's your problem?"

"What d'you mean, Milt? What problem?"

"The only times anybody buys a lawyer a drink is when he's just won their case or when they've got a problem. You aren't my client...yet, so you must have some sort of problem."

"T'tell the truth, it's about...somebody else."

Milt smiled. It always was about "somebody else." He tried to look sympathetic. "So, you've got a...a friend with a problem?"

"I ain't talking about me," Davy said gruffly. "I got some questions...questions about Jane."

"It really isn't ethical for me to talk about one of my clients. Sorry." He started to move away.

Davy put his hand on Milt's arm. "Look, I ain't asking for any dark secrets. Just let me ask m'questions. If you can't answer 'em, you just say so."

Milt thought for a minute. He did owe the man some courtesy for the beer, and he didn't have to answer anything he didn't want to. "All right, you ask, and I'll answer them...if I can."

"If you can?...Okay, I seen that notice you put in the paper. Why you going to all that trouble for Toby and Jake's...Jane's claims?"

"First off, it's a matter of public record that they're both Jane's. She and Toby registered them jointly. As to why I'm protecting them, Jane's my client, and she asked me to. She's paying for the work involved. And, by the way, your next question is your last, whether I answer it or not; unless, of course, _you_ want to start paying me for my time, too."

Davy muttered something under his breath that Milt tactfully ignored. "Why does she care so much about them two claims? Did she tell you or even give you some clue about that?"

"That's three questions, but I'll answer them anyway. She didn't say why, just that she wanted to keep title to those claims. I've no idea what she thinks is so valuable up there. I just hope that it's valuable enough to pay my bill when it comes due."

"You got any --"

"I said no more questions Davy, or do you want to pay for my services? I should warn you that I charge a lot more than the price of this beer." He finished the beer and left, not wanting to be pressured by Davy or anyone else.

Davy bought another beer and brought it back with him to the table where Sam Braddock sat waiting with several other men. "Find out anything?" Sam asked as Davy sat down.

"Not much," Davy said. "Damned close-mouthed lawyer."

"He didn't say nothing?"

"He said Jane owns Toby's claim free 'n' clear. They filed as partners."

"Nothing else?" Red Tully asked.

"Not much; he said Jane wants to keep them claims 'cause she thinks there's something valuable on 'em."

"Valuable," Sam laughed. "They never brought out that much good ore."

"Yeah," Red said, "but they always had enough cash money t'live on."

"Maybe that's all they wanted," Davy said. "Toby always was a lazy SOB. So was Jake, come to think of it."

"Shamus sure got her ass moving now," Sam said with a laugh.

"Yeah," Red said, "and it's a danged sight prettier ass, too, I'll bet." The others joined in the laughter.

Davy took a sip of his beer. "So you think they found themselves a good vein and just didn't bother to work it too hard?"

"Or maybe something more," Oswyn Pratt said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Have any of you boys ever heard of the Peralto gold?" He looked around the table, then continued. "The Peraltos were a Mexican family that had a rich, working mine up in the Superstitions thirty or more years ago. They were taking a load of ore home when they were ambushed by the Apache. Everybody or almost everybody was killed, and now nobody knows where their mine was."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Red said. "There's a crazy guy, Jacob Waltz -- they calls him 'the Dutchman' -- up Prescott way that keeps looking for it." His eyes widened. "You think maybe Toby and Jake found it?"

"Maybe," Oswyn said. "We can't really look with Quinlan sending men out to guard it."

"We can try," Sam said. "Quinlan's men can't be everywhere, and they ain't out there all the time."

"Yes," Oswyn said, "but there's an easier way."

"Easier?" Davy asked. "What? How?"

"Toby's dead, and Jake's Jane now," Oswyn said. "She can't really work that claim by herself once her time here is over." He smacked his lips. "Whoever she picks as her new partner will get all that gold...and that pretty little ass we were just talking about as a bonus." He stood up. "I don't know about you gents, but I think that I'm going to get myself a haircut and a shave, maybe some of that bay rum, too."

* * * * *

Maggie was in Ernesto's room at the new house, unpacking his clothes, while he and Lupe played in the yard. She was humming to herself, happier than she had felt in a long time.

Ramon knocked on the doorframe to get her attention. "Your trunk is in your room next to the dresser, Margarita." He rolled down his shirtsleeves as he spoke.

Maggie stood up. "Gracias, Ramon. Must you leave so soon?"

"Si, I am afraid so. Aaron will be needing me at the store."

"And I must get back to the restaurant to begin cooking dinner." She sighed. "Let me walk you out then." She started towards the stairs as Ramon joined her. "I want to thank you again for all your help, translating for Shamus, making arrangements for the children to come here -- they were not too much trouble for your sister last night, were they?"

"No, no," he shook his head as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Carmen and Whit did not mind, and Jose loved having someone his own age to play with."

"Still, you have done so very much for me, even helping us to move in here today."

"Margarita, what I did, I did for myself. I would do anything to make you stay here. You know, you must know, how much I care for you."

"Ramon...please. I...like you, like you very much, but I-I am not ready to be what you want me to be."

"You are a woman, Margarita, and a beautiful one. How can you be otherwise? You look like a woman. You act like one. From what I have heard you say, your body behaves as a woman's body behaves. Now, there are two children here who call you 'mama.' Why can you not accept what you truly are?"

"I...am just...not ready, Ramon, and there is...nothing you can say to change that." Maggie hesitated as she spoke, uncertain of how much she believed what she was saying. She had believed it well enough when she had been alone, but now, with Ramon around, with him being so insistent, it seemed to undermine her resolve.

"You are right. There is nothing I can _say_." Before Maggie could stop him, her took her into his arms, pulling her close to him. He stared into her eyes for a moment, then kissed her.

Maggie put her arms up. At first, she seemed to be trying to push him away. Then, as if of their own will, her arms circled around his neck. She felt a pleasant warmth, a tingling, spreading through her body. She moaned, then, suddenly alarmed at what she was feeling, she lowered her arms and began trying to push him away again. Only, when she thought about it later, it seemed that she had not tried very hard, certainly not hard enough to stop him.

Finally, Ramon broke the kiss. "_That_, Margarita is my final argument. Think of how you felt, how your body acted, when you were in my arms. Think about it the rest of the day, and think about it again tonight...tonight, when you are...alone in your bed. We will talk more of this tomorrow. Adios." He bowed low and walked out of the house.

Maggie stood, watching him go. Her body was still tingling, and she felt a weakness in her legs that made her quickly sit down. "I...I will...think about it," she said. She sat there for several minutes before she stood and started to walk upstairs. As she passed by the mirror in the hall, she noticed that she was smiling.

* * * * *

  

  

  

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