Glorious (30 page)

E
xcept for running the livery, Ike Clanton acted as though nothing had changed. If anything, he was friendlier than ever. At the Owaysis, Ike made an evening habit of buying a round of drinks for the house, which he could afford, since he'd raised the price of daily mule rentals from four to six dollars. Ike was respectful to the whores, and he paid particular attention to Girl, chatting with her pleasantly and frequently causing her to dissolve into fits of giggles with his silly jokes.

“I keep expecting Ike'll attempt some unpaid indecency with her, but as yet he's done nothing untoward,” Mary Somebody confided to McLendon as they watched Ike and Girl huddled in a corner of the saloon. “She's such a shy thing, and he brings her out of herself. If I didn't know he was a scoundrel, I'd consider his attention to her a blessing.”

“The ones like Ike never act without purpose,” McLendon cautioned. “I doubt it's sex, since if that was the basis of his interest in her
he could pay and have it. But he has something in mind. Don't allow Girl to become too attached.”

“I'll do my best, but it will be hard. Sense is generally beyond her. Me and George found her living in a Tucson alley, just a young slip of a thing foraging in garbage and mostly starving for want of it because the dogs beat her to the edibles. How she came there, who her people were, we never have found out. Once we fed her, she followed us like a stray kitten. So we cleaned her up and took her with us. There are those who'd say we're taking advantage of the simpleminded in turning her out, but at least she's clean and cared for. If we'd left her in that alley, she'd have starved or been raped and left for dead. George and me have been good to her.”

“No need to defend yourself,” McLendon said. “Just keep her away from Ike as best you can. Meanwhile, it's getting late. If you announce last call, I'll help you distribute the drinks.”

With nothing else to do after being evicted from the livery, McLendon filled the time by assisting his friends. In the morning he had breakfast at the Elite with Major Mulkins, then helped him and Mrs. Mendoza, the maid, clean the hotel. Charlie Rogers had more blacksmith's work than he could handle, and although McLendon had no skills in that regard, he could still write up job orders and help the mayor collect payment for completed work. In the evenings he pitched in at the Owaysis, serving drinks and washing glasses and reminding patrons to patiently wait for their turns with the whores. When Joe Saint had prisoners in the jail, McLendon watched them while the sheriff made his rounds. The only place where he didn't lend a hand was at the dry goods store. It was obvious to him that Saint wouldn't approve, and McLendon couldn't risk alienating his host. Sleeping in the jail was the best alternative he had, though it was seldom restful:
most nights both cells were occupied by noisy drunks. Then Saint and McLendon had to roll up in their blankets on the floor and hope that the prisoners would eventually quiet down.

Despite the tension between them, the two men found themselves getting along reasonably well. One night when things had been relatively quiet and the sheriff was able to enjoy several beers at the Owaysis before they retired to the jail, Saint even talked a little about his life before Glorious. Lying on the cot in one cell and talking across to McLendon lying down in the other, Saint said that he'd grown up in Pennsylvania. From childhood he'd loved books and arithmetic. It was natural to become a schoolteacher: “I loved helping children, seeing their faces light up when they learned something new. There's just nothing else like it in the world.”

McLendon had consumed enough beer himself to disregard frontier custom regarding questions about someone's past. “If you were so happy, how did you end up here?”

Saint didn't answer right away. Just when McLendon thought the sheriff might have fallen asleep, he said, “I married a girl. We had a daughter and lived just outside Philadelphia. She and the baby caught the bloody flux and died. I couldn't stay there after that.”

“Oh,” was all McLendon could say.

He drifted to Ohio first, Saint said, and then to Indiana and down to Tennessee and Georgia. Whenever he'd stop somewhere and try to settle in, the memory of his family overwhelmed him and he had to move on. He had heard a lot of talk about the western frontier and how you could lose yourself in it, and he wanted that to happen. He asked around, wanting to know where it was still wildest, and Arizona Territory sounded just right. He came there with no expectations, no hopes beyond a bone-deep longing to get so far away from anything familiar that the pain of losing his family would be forced from his soul.

“I was in Maricopa Wells, thinking of taking the stage to Arizona City. My money was about to run out. I figured I'd find some temporary job. Charlie Rogers was in Maricopa Wells buying some tools. We crossed paths and he told me about this town he and a few others were founding out in the middle of nowhere. He asked: Did I want to come take a look? Maybe I'd want to stay. So we came out here, though I never thought I'd remain more than a week or two. And then there she was.”

“Gabrielle,” McLendon prompted, not wanting to say the name but unable to resist.

“Gabrielle. When I was with her, my heart started aching in a different way. She'd been hurting too. And we helped each other heal. They wanted a sheriff here and I agreed to serve. Everything was fine—”

“Until I came.”

“—until you came.” Saint was silent for a moment. “You're such a selfish bastard, McLendon. You spurned her in the worst way possible. Why couldn't you have the decency to leave her alone afterward?”

It was dark in the jail, but McLendon could see the cracked, cobwebby ceiling of the cell by the moonlight shining through the barred window. He'd have to find a broom and brush off the cobwebs in the morning. “I don't know. I suppose I didn't think, or at least think of others. I'm trying to do better now.”

“You still have intentions toward Gabrielle.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I don't. I mean, I don't know that, either. Right now I'm mostly thinking about MacPherson. That takes precedence. You're the sheriff. We've got to work together on this. You could make me your deputy.”

“There's only the one badge.”

McLendon lay pondering the ways that his life had changed. A wife had died, he was on the run, he was in a tiny primitive frontier town instead of a modern city. He'd probably lost Gabrielle to a scrawny, bespectacled schoolteacher turned sheriff. Then he realized that he hadn't thought about his life in St. Louis for days. Those regrets and fears had been superseded by the current crisis, which, except for the setting and the death of Ellen, was virtually identical to the previous one. A rich man was using any means necessary to impose his unwelcome will on decent, hardworking people. Collin MacPherson was Rupert Douglass. Angel Misterio was Killer Boots. It made McLendon sick to realize that, in St. Louis, he had in many ways been the equivalent of Ike Clanton in Glorious.

After a while McLendon slept. When he woke in the morning, Saint was already up and gone. Later he told McLendon that he'd enjoyed an early breakfast with the Tirritos.

•   •   •

L
ESS THAN A WEEK
after Bob Pugh's death, there was a second significant silver strike outside of town. Boze Bell and Johnny Boggs, two veteran prospecting partners, staked a claim about three miles northeast of town near a curve in Queen Creek. Unlike Turner, who'd been eager to sell out to mining company interests right away, Bell and Boggs took their time. They distributed samples to the assayers of Sears and Sons and the other three mining companies that had set up offices in the Elite Hotel. The samples were black-lined float rather than soft horn silver, but they indicated a rich deposit just the same. All four companies made immediate offers—rumor pegged them in the range of $50,000. Bell and Boggs coolly said they'd think about it and perhaps take additional samples all the way to San Francisco or Philadelphia to see if other mining concerns might care to bid higher.

“They're wise ones,” Mulkins said to McLendon over morning coffee in the hotel dining room. It wasn't yet eight, but everyone else had already breakfasted and headed out into the mountains. The latest strike had left the rest of the prospectors more frantic to find a fortune in silver for themselves. Even Ike Clanton had brought in two Culloden vaqueros to run the livery while he joined his father and brother Phin out in the Pinals, searching for signs of ore. “Boze and Johnny'll goose up their offers considerably. I predict they'll top Turner's eighty thousand before all's said and done.”

“At least this one seems legitimate,” McLendon said. “There were no Culloden hands anywhere around—nothing suspicious at all.”

Mulkins drained his coffee cup and poured himself more. “Sad thing is, this find came right where the Apaches caught and butchered poor Tom Gaumer. I know, you think it wasn't Indians. But whoever it was, they prevented Tommy from making the fortune he wanted so bad. All that's sure to be forgotten. I wish to hell I had a third story on my hotel, maybe even a fourth. This town's in for another rush of newcomers. It'll take a few weeks for word of this latest strike to spread, maybe another month, since the samples have been evaluated here but not in Florence or Tucson. But the next rush is coming.”

McLendon stared gloomily out of the window. “What's coming is more from MacPherson. He knows what this latest news means. More than ever, he'll want to own this town.”

“I suppose, and there seems to be little we can do about it. Say, here are Charlie and Mr. Jesse from Sears and Sons. Gentlemen—will you join us for coffee?”

“No time for coffee,” the mayor said. “Mr. Jesse has exciting news.”

“Has your company purchased the claim from Boze Bell and Johnny Boggs?” Mulkins asked.

“No, though I predict we eventually will,” Jesse said. He was a
small, wide-shouldered man with a craggy face. “Any sensible prospectors would do business with us. We pay fair prices, which is more than can be said for those of some competitors. In any event, the bosses back in San Francisco have decided we're to begin excavating the Turner claim next Tuesday. Just blasting to get under the surface rock, of course, but that will soon be followed by tunneling. We're bringing in a contingent of expert Cornish miners, perhaps fifty in all.”

“Pay them each four dollars a day is what they do,” Rogers said. “All fifty of 'em will spend a good deal of that on housing and meals and entertainment right here in Glorious. And after the miners will come engineers to build wood supports in the tunnels, and all manner of other workers to extract the silver from the rock and so forth. Call in that building crew, Major, and get the second floor of this hotel finished pronto. You're going to need every room.”

“With pleasure, Charlie,” Mulkins said. “I'll do that and send in an order for glass windows on the Florence stage today. I'll have that second floor available in two weeks, and maybe a third floor besides.”

Jesse cleared his throat. “Perhaps I'll have some of that coffee after all, Major Mulkins. And now we come to the news that immediately concerns you. It seems you'll need to have your finest current room clean and ready on Tuesday for a very distinguished guest.”

“One of the big bosses from your San Francisco headquarters?” Mulkins asked.

“An even bigger boss than that.” Jesse took a slow, theatrical sip of coffee. “Major, in four days' time you'll host the territorial governor. The Honorable A. P. K. Safford has consented to come to Glorious and see this exciting new town and Sears and Sons excavation site for himself.”

“It's such a blessing,” Mayor Rogers enthused. “The governor is a considerable force in the business world, and should he feel impressed by our community, he's certain to recommend it to all the right people. Major, C.M., we must go all out for his visit. It's a tremendous opportunity. Every effort should be made to ensure that Governor Safford sees us at our best.”

“Well, I'll leave you gentlemen to it,” Jesse said genially. “I believe I'll hunt those rascals Bell and Boggs, see if they might not want to come to an agreement we can announce during the governor's visit.”

When the mining company manager was gone, McLendon said, “You're right, Charlie. This is the opportunity we've needed.”

“To impress the governor with our town?”

“No, to tell him about MacPherson, what he's trying to do. As mayor, you can take Safford aside and share our concerns, ask him to send in some lawmen to discourage Misterio and the vaqueros.”

Rogers made a fluttering motion with his hand. “Don't you see, C.M., that there's no longer anything to worry about regarding MacPherson? The governor's coming and he'll see how we're all established here. MacPherson may think himself a mighty man, but if we make the governor our friend, well, what can MacPherson do to us then? Governor Safford's said to be a canny investor himself. Why, hell, maybe we can interest him in partnering up in one or more of our businesses, like the Elite or the Owaysis or even my farrier shop. He may well see the advantage of getting in on the ground floor, so to speak, before the next wave of people arrives and the next strike hits.”

“Instead of warning the governor about MacPherson, you want to ask him to go shares in your business?”

“Don't sound so disgusted, C.M. I'm just trying to take advantage of a rare opportunity.”

McLendon reminded himself to set, rather than slam, his coffee cup down on the table. “It's up to you, Charlie, but I'm going to talk to the governor about MacPherson.”

The mayor fixed McLendon with a hard stare. “C.M., be careful about bothering the governor with such notions when we're trying to give him a good impression of our town and its prospects. Bob Pugh's death was unfortunate, but as you and the sheriff have both admitted, we've no proof it was MacPherson's men and not the Apaches. The more I think about it, the more unlikely your suspicions seem. Don't you agree, Major?”