Glorious (32 page)

•   •   •

T
HERE WERE FOUR DRUNKS
crammed in the Glorious jail that night, two in each cell. One repeatedly howled like a wolf and another vomited copiously into a bucket the sheriff gave him. Saint and McLendon tried to sleep on the floor and couldn't. They went outside and sat with their backs against the adobe wall.

“Something feels wrong, Joe,” McLendon said. “The new strike, the governor coming to town—MacPherson's not the kind to wait and see what happens. Did you notice that Lemmy Duke and Angel Misterio weren't at the meeting? MacPherson usually sends them in to keep watch on such things. Why not tonight?”

Saint took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, his typical gesture when tired or exasperated. “Maybe MacPherson figured Ike could be his eyes and ears.”

“So what about that Indian business? Once again, it's only MacPherson men who see Apaches.”

“Ike works for MacPherson, but I don't think his father and brother do. And Newman corrected Ike on the number of Apaches they saw.”

“That was a clever touch.” The drunk in the cell howled again and they flinched. “MacPherson's about to act, Joe. I wish I could predict how.”

The sheriff yawned. “Well, they can't shoot us down in front of
Safford and claim it was Apaches. All we can do is follow our own plan. Major Mulkins has invited you to the private dinner for the governor, right? You can get him aside and speak about MacPherson then. While you're in there, I expect that Hunky-Dory will be nearby, maybe in the kitchen, standing watch. I'll seek him out wherever he is and share our concerns. Perhaps one or both of them will be moved to help. Perhaps we'll be sent a contingent of lawmen to stand between us and MacPherson, or else the governor might request that the Army set up a temporary post nearby. At the very least, MacPherson will be warned to leave us alone.”

“I hope so,” McLendon said. “But men like Collin MacPherson seldom acknowledge any authority higher than their own.”

“Well, as the Bible says, ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' Let's go back inside and try again for some shut-eye.”

They still weren't able to sleep, at least soundly or long. The one drunk kept howling and the nauseated prisoner repeatedly woke them with demands to come empty the vomit bucket because it was near to overflowing again.

•   •   •

T
UESDAY DAWNED
bright and beautiful. The wind was soft, and white, fluffy clouds blocked the harshest rays of the late-summer sun. McLendon and Saint were awakened from fitful dozes by the sound of pounding hammers. The Sears and Sons crew was erecting a low platform in front of the livery. Ike Clanton watched them, offering suggestions as though he were their foreman.

Saint stretched, then took a set of keys from his desk and unlocked the cells. “You're free to go, boys,” he told the prisoners. “Behave while the governor's here.”

McLendon spent some of the morning helping Mulkins and Mrs.
Mendoza prepare biscuits and fry bacon for sandwiches. Mulkins estimated that they needed two hundred: “We don't need somebody bitching instead of cheering because he wasn't fed as promised.” When they were finally done, they loaded the sandwiches on trays and took them over to the Owaysis, where Crazy George was washing every glass in the saloon.

“You don't need to fill them to the brim when you're passing out the free libations,” Mary Somebody reminded him. “You might consider making them mostly foam.”

“I pride myself in pouring honest glasses of beer with minimal foam,” George protested.

“That's in the case of paid-for beer. Our free beer comes with generous foam portions.”

McLendon spied Charlie Rogers at a table in a far corner of the saloon. The mayor of Glorious was bent over several sheets of paper, jotting notes and then scratching some of them out.

“I usually extemporize, but on this occasion I feel obliged to prepare my remarks in advance,” he explained. “Have a listen, C.M. How does this sound?” Rogers donned reading glasses and consulted what he'd written. “‘Governor Safford, honored guests, beloved citizens: As mayor of aptly named Glorious, I welcome you to the Eden of Arizona Territory, a veritable garden of neighborly regard and investment potential.'”

“You've got a subtle touch there, Charlie,” McLendon said. He meant to be sarcastic, but the mayor took him seriously.

“Damn it, you're right,” Rogers said. “As an inexperienced public speaker, eloquence apparently eludes me. Perhaps ‘neighborly regard' isn't strong enough? I want to emphasize that good people live here.”

“And some not so good. Sheriff Saint and I were kept up most of the night by boisterous drunks in the cells.”

Rogers glowered. “Well, we don't need to be distracting the governor with any of that.” He crumpled the pages that he held and held his pen over a clean page. “I must compose remarks that are grander, a full half hour's worth at least.”

“I believe President Lincoln spoke for only a few minutes at Gettysburg.”

“Lincoln was a common Kentucky-born cracker, and Gettysburg was just another battle. Today's visit by the governor is a far more critical event.”

•   •   •

T
HOUGH
S
AFFORD
wasn't expected to arrive until at least two that afternoon, people began gathering in the Owaysis by eleven. They demanded their free beer and sandwiches. Mulkins and Mary Somebody consulted with Saint, who announced that lunch would be served at one. Some of the prospectors passed the time drinking. Mr. Jesse of Sears and Sons and the mayor worried about drunks.

“Can't you order them not to imbibe, Sheriff?” Jesse asked.

Saint shook his head. “If I try to prevent these men from drinking, sir, they're likely to tell me to go to hell. They may get a bit tipsy, but at least they'll be in pleasant moods when the governor finally arrives.”

McLendon suggested that Jesse and Mayor Rogers inspect the stage that had been built in front of the livery. He and Saint accompanied the two men, who stepped up onto the wooden platform and peered in all directions.

“I believe this will do,” Jesse said. “The height is such that everyone gathered around can get a good look at the governor.”

“How loudly should I speak, to be certain that all in the throng can hear me clearly?” Rogers inquired. “Should I perhaps rehearse?” He withdrew his speech from a suit pocket, put on his glasses, cleared his
throat, and read, “‘Most honorable Governor Safford, it is with the greatest gratitude and deeply profound hospitality that I, on behalf of the most promising town in all of the West and perhaps the nation, welcome you—'”

“Pardon me, Mayor Rogers.” Sydney Chau was at the side of the stage. A small group of Chinese stood behind her. “My people were wondering: Will we, too, be allowed to greet the governor when he arrives?”

Mayor Rogers was not pleased by the question. He removed his reading glasses and exchanged glances with Mr. Jesse, who violently shook his head. The mayor said, “As much as I wish it were possible—”

“Of course you can, Doc,” Joe Saint said. “I believe Gabrielle will have some small flags available if you folks feel like waving them. Why don't you go see her about that?”

“But when the time comes, be certain not to have your people standing out in front,” Jesse said. “We don't want you to be the first thing that the governor sees.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Sydney said. She pointedly ignored Jesse and Mayor Rogers as the Chinese walked off to the dry goods store.

•   •   •

A
T ONE O'CLOCK
Mary Somebody announced that lunch was being served in the Owaysis. There was some arguing over the sandwiches. Several prospectors were accused of taking two. Mary stood behind Crazy George, making certain that the free beer was half foam. When anyone protested, she snapped, “Do you also want to complain about the price?” Sally and Abigail, the whores, appeared in modest dresses, and Girl was proud of several brightly colored ribbons in her hair.

A half-dozen prospectors with their own mules volunteered to ride west out of town and stand lookout for the governor and his party.
When they spied them, they would ride back in and alert everyone to get ready. Mayor Rogers said that it was a fine idea and sent them off.

“This is it,” he predicted, nervously hugging his wife, Rose, whose voluminous dress featured lots of ruffles that made her look even wider than usual. “We're going to do it, boys. We're going to have it happen, just as we hoped.”

At two the crowd drifted out in front of the livery. McLendon thought they might number more than two hundred—there were more prospectors than he'd realized. By two-thirty everyone was restless, but a few minutes later the lookouts came trotting in on their mules to report they'd observed a wide cloud of dust about two miles out of town: “It's the governor for sure.”

Mayor Rogers shouted for everyone to take their places. The town founders had places of honor directly in front of the stage. Major Mulkins insisted that McLendon stand beside him: “You're one of us now, C.M.” Everyone stared west. Soon they saw the dust cloud for themselves, and then tiny specks grew into the distinguishable shapes of riders, the Florence stage, and a long buckboard.

“Let's go, friends, and raise the first cheer,” Rogers cried, and they did, a loud whooping chorus that seemed to echo off nearby Apache Leap and rebound down the valley in the direction of the approaching procession. The rider leading the way waved his hat in response.

“I believe that's Hunky-Dory in front,” Saint whispered to McLendon.

As the newcomers drew closer, Mayor Rogers called for a second cheer, and the crowd, caught up in the excitement, roared happily. A man on the bench of the approaching buckboard stood and waved.

“Governor Safford himself!” Mayor Rogers cried. “Welcome him, everyone, welcome him!”

Then, perhaps a hundred yards before the governor's party would
have passed the cluster of prospectors' tents and entered town, riders appeared from the south. They splashed across Queen Creek and intercepted the procession.

“Those are Culloden vaqueros,” Saint said. “Look, Lemmy Duke's yammering with Hunky-Dory.” The U.S. marshal seemed confused. Duke turned his horse and trotted to the buckboard. He leaned over in the saddle and spoke to the governor. The governor called out something to Deputy Marshal Holmes, and then the buckboard swung south, following Duke and the vaqueros across the creek in the direction of Culloden Ranch, with Hunky-Dory Holmes and several other riders trailing behind. The Florence stage continued into town. The crowd moved aside as the stage driver pulled up his team beside the stage.

“What's going on?” the mayor demanded. “Where did the governor go?”

The driver spit tobacco juice and replied, “From what little I overheard, the man with the Mexicans told the governor that the party to welcome him was to be at this ranch nearby, and when the governor said, ‘Really,' the man said, ‘Your friend's waiting there for you,' and the governor told his driver to follow the man along.”

“This can't be,” Rogers blustered. “We're the official hosts. Governor Safford's come to see Glorious, not Culloden Ranch. I won't tolerate it!”

“I believe that you will.” Ike Clanton appeared at the mayor's side. He was smiling. “As it happens, Governor Safford and Mr. MacPherson are great friends of long standing, and so of course Mr. MacPherson has laid on a considerable greeting for his chum. But don't despair, Mayor, you or anyone else. The boss invites the whole town to join them at the ranch for barbecue and entertainment. I've got a buckboard for the ladies, so they don't have to walk and dirty up
their nice dresses. Step to—this will be a most festive occasion.” Ike jumped up on the stage next to Rogers and bellowed, “A fancy free feed, and entertainment besides! Everyone over to the Culloden!” A few in the crowd looked uncertain, but most took the change of plans in stride and set out for the ranch.

“We've been outsmarted,” Mulkins said to McLendon and Saint. “Collin MacPherson's just plain took the play away from us. Might as well go over there and see what's doing.”

“I can still try to talk to the governor, and you can get with Hunky-Dory,” McLendon told Saint. “MacPherson can't stop us from talking to them.”

Ike brought the buckboard over and extended his hand to help Gabrielle and Rose Rogers climb up. He had to tug hard with Rose, but Gabrielle got up by herself without Ike's help. Mary Somebody asked Ike, “Can they come too?” gesturing at Sally, Abigail, and Girl.

“The more, the merrier,” Ike crowed, “but this pretty one's got to sit up on the bench by me.” He took Girl by the waist and tossed her up. She squealed with laughter. Mary, Sally, and Abigail joined Gabrielle and Rose in the bed of the buckboard. Ike took up the reins, but Gabrielle called for him to hold up.

“You and your mother should ride with us too,” she said to Sydney. Ike didn't object, and Gabrielle helped Sydney get her mother in. Then Ike clucked at the mule team and the buckboard lurched toward the ranch, with everyone else from town following.

D
ecorations at Culloden Ranch put the bunting and small flags of Glorious to shame. Great hand-painted banners proclaiming
WELCOME
,
GOVERNOR
hung from the compound walls, and huge bouquets of colorful wildflowers festooned windows and doorways. A Mexican band played welcoming fanfares; McLendon thought that MacPherson must have brought the musicians in from Tucson. The air inside the compound was redolent with the smell of cooking beef. A deep pit had been dug in one corner, and in it two whole beeves roasted on spits over glowing coals. Young Mexican women wearing long, formal dresses welcomed each arrival with a drink—tequila shots for the men and lemonade for the ladies. They also offered treats—sections of orange and quince, and wedges of several types of cheese. Under a canopy in front of the main house, Collin MacPherson and Arizona Territory governor A. P. K. Safford sat comfortably in cushioned chairs, sipping their own drinks and surrounded by a phalanx of Culloden vaqueros. Angel Misterio stood behind their
chairs, eyeing the newcomers as they entered the compound through the front gate. His fingers brushed the hilt of the knife in his belt.

“So much for speaking privately to the governor,” McLendon said to Saint. “MacPherson and Misterio clearly don't intend to let us near him.”

“I should be sitting with them,” Charlie Rogers complained. “I'm the mayor. Say, there,” he said to Lemmy Duke, who was standing nearby. “Take me over to the governor and Mr. MacPherson.”

Duke smiled and shook his head. “Can't do it, sir. The two gentlemen have emphasized that they desire some private conversation. Perhaps later.”

“But I'm the mayor of Glorious!”

“So you are. But you're on MacPherson land now.”

Mayor Rogers fumed and everyone else milled about until Angel Misterio signaled for quiet by firing a pistol in the air. All eyes turned to the shady spot where Collin MacPherson rose from his chair.

“Governor Safford, visitors, and neighbors, welcome to Culloden Ranch. We've got a splendid time planned, with food and entertainment, but first, if you'll allow, I'll make some brief remarks.”

“I have remarks prepared too,” Mayor Rogers grumbled, but no one paid attention to him.

“We who have come to this wild, wonderful region have poured our money, sweat, and on occasion blood into the land, always with the goal of building a thriving community,” MacPherson said. Standing erect, resplendent in a well-cut suit, he was an imposing figure. “We're now close to achieving that goal. The good things happening now are only the beginning. In partnership with the territorial government, we will move on and up, always grateful to God and government for our blessings. Today's visit by the governor marks the conclusion of one era and the bright beginning of the next.”

“It'd seem a damn sight brighter with some more tequila!” a prospector shouted, and everyone laughed, including MacPherson.

“Someone refill that fellow's glass, and everyone else's besides,” MacPherson commanded. “A little patience, my thirsty friends. There's just to be a bit more talk, then food, then some fun. I've always tried to be the best of neighbors, today is no different. And now let's hear from our distinguished guest, the governor of Arizona Territory, the Honorable Anson Pacely Killen Safford.”

Everyone clapped, and then gasped as the governor stood beside MacPherson.

“The man's a
midget
,” someone near McLendon hissed. It didn't seem far from the truth. Though he, too, was dressed in a splendid suit and sported a magnificent low-hanging beard, the top of Governor Safford's head barely reached Collin MacPherson's shoulder. Some in the throng couldn't help laughing, and Safford smiled and nodded as though to acknowledge the mirth.

“It's a
tall
order, following a speech by Collin MacPherson,” he said, and everyone felt free to guffaw. “It's obvious I'm a small man in stature, but I have big plans for this territory.” McLendon, himself skilled in the use of self-deprecation to engage others, admired the governor's approach. And though Safford was diminutive, he had a deep, booming voice. He was in control of his audience. Everyone listened raptly.

“Arizona Territory is God's gift to America,” Safford continued. “We're growing to where statehood is inevitable, and in the process we're extending civilization in the best of ways. There'll be good roads into every town, and telegraph lines, enough prisons to hold all the bad men and enough high-paid jobs for all the good ones. You're all for that, am I right?” There were cheers. “Of course you are. None
but fine people here today. There's been silver found and the first local mine is about to begin excavation and it's an exciting time. The legislature in Tucson is well aware. For those of you living across the creek in Glorious, official certification as a town will soon be forthcoming. Good times, golden times.”

The governor paused, then raised his right forefinger in warning.

“Remember, though, that while success is looming, it is never guaranteed. There remain impediments. I note specifically the ongoing presence of Apaches. We're working hard to root them out, I'm cooperating all I can with President Grant's peace commission to them, but at present they're still dangerous and they're all around you. My good friend Collin MacPherson has informed me that at least one war party has been recently spotted in the vicinity. I urge you to observe great caution as you venture out in search of ore. God willing, the day shall come soon when the Apache threat is no more. But for now, remain alert, and in particular cooperate with Mr. MacPherson's fine men as they endeavor to keep you safe from the savages.”

McLendon and Saint looked at each other and shook their heads. “MacPherson's foxed us,” the sheriff said. “He got to the governor first.”

“We can't give up. Let's see how it plays out.”

The governor spoke a little longer. He reminded everyone to support local businesses, be mindful of obeying territorial laws, and, above all, “always vote Republican.” Then he waved and sat down. Collin MacPherson announced that dinner was served. Everyone lined up for plates of thick, juicy steak along with fresh-baked tortillas and frijoles. The musicians played and some of the women who lived on the ranch danced.

Afterward, MacPherson instructed everyone to walk through the
gate to an area just west of the compound, where they found targets attached to hay bales and several dummies made of white sheets and stuffed with straw that were suspended from T-shaped supports.

“My vaqueros are now going to demonstrate their skills in the warlike arts,” he said. “Benches are provided for our much-respected town founders.” Ike Clanton and Lemmy Duke escorted Charlie and Rose Rogers, Crazy George and Mary Somebody, Major Mulkins, Salvatore and Gabrielle Tirrito, and Joe Saint to seats in front. Sally and Abigail, the Owaysis whores, weren't included, but Girl clung to Mary and sat next to her.

“You, too, McLendon,” Ike snickered, grabbing his arm.

McLendon jerked free. “I'm not a founder.”

“Tough shit. Boss says you sit up there with them. He wants you and your friends to get real good looks.” There seemed little use in arguing. Most of the crowd stood behind the benches. The Chinese were herded off to one side, where the late-afternoon sun shone directly in their eyes.

The demonstrations were impressive. MacPherson and Governor Safford sat on a bench apart from everyone else. Before each event, MacPherson explained what everyone was about to see. First came basic pistol marksmanship. A half-dozen vaqueros blasted away at hay bale targets, and afterward the targets were passed around so all could see the holes blown squarely in the center of the bull's-eyes. Then Angel Misterio threw knives with such incredible speed and precision that the blur of his arm seemed simultaneous with the
thunk
of the blades burying themselves in hay.

Cattle were driven in front of the crowd, and the vaqueros demonstrated their roping skills. Then MacPherson announced the grand finale.

“Please observe this closely, friends, especially the ordnance involved. I have a business acquaintance back east named Oliver Winchester. His company manufactures the repeating rifles with which I believe you're all familiar. Within a year Ollie hopes to market his latest model. Not to bore the women, but these will be center rather than rim fire, in regards to where the firing pin strikes the cartridge. That means the Winchester '73s will fire more powerfully and accurately than any previous rifle. Ollie had some sample weapons he wanted tested, and so he sent them to me at Culloden Ranch. My men now have superior firepower to anyone, anywhere. As a fighting force, they are virtually invincible. See for yourselves.” He barked an order and ten vaqueros led by Lemmy Duke raced from the compound past the crowd. They were all mounted on wiry Mexican horses and had Winchesters in one hand. Duke signaled and the riders dropped their reins, aimed their rifles, and from their galloping horses opened fire at the dummies hanging from the supports. The dummies seemed to almost instantly disintegrate. One moment they dangled, and the next they were reduced to scraps of material and wisps of straw floating down into the dirt. Even after the shooting was over, McLendon's ears rang uncomfortably.

“That concludes our program—almost,” MacPherson said. “Governor Safford has one more announcement.”

The governor rose and smiled. “First, let's all express appreciation to our most gracious host, Collin MacPherson.” He clapped his hands and the crowd dutifully joined in the applause. “Well, now. I believe we are next scheduled to depart this fine ranch and journey to the site of the Sears and Sons mine excavation. But before we do, I have exciting news. Promising as it may be, one mine alone won't be the making of the town of Glorious. More are needed.”

Ike Clanton led two men through the crowd. One was tall and grizzled. The other sported a brushy mustache and wore a particularly wide-brimmed hat.

“Why, it's Boze Bell and Johnny Boggs,” Mulkins said. “Why are they being brought up to the governor?”

Safford dramatically shook hands with the two prospectors, then gestured for Collin MacPherson to join them.

“Isolated as you've been, no one could blame you good people for wondering if your governor was even aware of you and whether he and the territorial legislature have your best interests at heart,” Safford said. “Well, here's confirmation in its finest form. Mr. Bell and Mr. Boggs have made a significant strike, and I hereby announce that they have sold their claim—to myself and Collin MacPherson. The Safford-MacPherson Mining Group will begin excavation within weeks. So never doubt that I hold Glorious in the highest esteem, for, from this moment and by way of investment, I am one of you. Now, if you will, form a line, for before we set off to the Sears and Sons site, I want to personally greet each of you and shake your hands.”

“Son of a bitch,” Major Mulkins mumbled. “MacPherson's got the governor in his pocket too.”

“We might as well get back to town,” Saint said. “There's nothing we can do here.” But the Culloden vaqueros, some of them carrying Winchesters still warm from firing, herded everyone into a single-file line to greet the governor. The Glorious founders were among the first. Crazy George nodded to Safford, and Mary Somebody said, “Pleased, Your Honor,” and made a sort of clumsy curtsy. Salvatore Tirrito shook hands firmly, and McLendon thought Safford smiled a bit too intimately at Gabrielle. Major Mulkins, too furious to pretend, briefly touched the governor's hand with his and walked away as quickly as he could. Safford greeted Saint with “It's the local lawman,” and Joe
managed a weak smile. The governor kissed Rose Rogers on the cheek. Her husband said mournfully, “I had some remarks to deliver,” and Safford said smoothly, “I'm sure there'll be another opportunity.”

Then it was McLendon's turn. The governor held out his hand. McLendon took it and pulled himself in close. “We have concerns, sir,” he whispered.

Safford pulled away. His eyes widened for a moment. Then he said, “Good to see you.”

“Governor, it's about Collin MacPherson.”

“Good to see you,” Safford repeated.

Angel Misterio appeared beside the governor. His dark eyes burned into McLendon's as he softly murmured, “Please move along, señor. The governor has many more people to greet.”

McLendon saw Collin MacPherson standing a few yards away, smoking a cigar. He walked over to him, with Misterio just a step behind.

“Oh, McLendon,” MacPherson said. “You should have left as I suggested. Perhaps you still could. No promises, of course.”

“Why do this, MacPherson? You don't have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's not necessary to destroy these decent people. No one has to be hurt. Instead of taking their businesses, you could just start your own in town, build a bigger and better saloon and hotel and dry goods shop and farrier's. Undercut their prices, take all their customers, and they'll give up and go. You proved your point today with the guns and the governor. If you'll just wait, it wouldn't take long.”

MacPherson regarded McLendon like a scientist contemplating where to drive the pin through a bug. “No,” he said presently. “I want it now. Waiting any longer would be inconvenient. Good-bye, Mr. McLendon.”