The
saloon doors burst open and swung on their hinges; the first sound after that
was the loud thud of a spurred boot as it landed on the dusty floorboard. The
thud was followed by a second thud. There was sunlight, bright sunlight outside,
but no one in the saloon could see it. The frame that filled the doorway blocked
it out although Anonymous Cowboy could swear on his pappy's grave that the big
man who stood feet astride, told the sun to go away.
A
quiet descended in the Triple S, owned by owner/madam Sandrine. Her grand-mère
- French - who was really a grossmutter - German -, but we should not say that
above a whisper, came to the New World running after her beau who was really
married man. But Sandrine's grand-mère had no such scruples as honouring
someone else's holy matrimony. As soon as she and her beau landed this side of
Wyoming, in Goose Creek, Grand-mère Sandrine pulled the first padre from the
stage coach that passed through Goose Creek and made him perform the nuptials in
the old church. The local padre had long ago fled Goose Creek on account of
defiling the banker's daughter. No one had seen the banker, his daughter or the
old padre again. So the new padre joined Grand-mère and her beau in marriage.
What did it matter that the padre was a fake with his back to front collar? It
was enough for Grand-mère Sandrine. One day, not long after the wedding,
Grand-mère was left alone again on account of her beau who was now her husband,
leaving Goose Creek when another stage coach passed through and he saw a
beautiful girl staring out the window. But that is another story.
Everyone
looked at the dark figure silhouetted in the doorway of the saloon. No one
spoke. The man wore a large black Stetson; they could just see the pitch black
hair hanging long down his back. His eyes were black, and he wore a black shirt
with black trousers, his legs sheathed in black leather boots with silver spurs.
His hands were at his sides, barely an inch away from his holsters where the
rosewood grips of his Smith&Wessons peeped just over the edge, since the
clips were already loose, in case them hands moved too fast for the human eye to
see the speed. In fact, before Anonymous Cowboy could breathe his pappy's name
which was not long by any means - since E. Pennesitum Romania was the family
name, but Anonymous Cowboy wished to remain anonymous anyway because of his
shame, but that being another story - he might be breathing his last, who knows?
The
stranger remained in the doorway, staring straight at the mirror above the shelf
of wine bottles behind the bar. Tuhbe ducked, then slowly allowed his face to
rise over the counter. Pock Face, now minus one pimple, remained
semi-inscrutable as he kept the brim of his hat pulled low over his forehead,
chewing on a little stick that he used only moments before to scratch his ear.
He lounged against the counter, bracing one elbow, and crossed his feet with
spurred boots, so that the stranger in the doorway could hear the clink of the
metal, the scuffing of the boot against the board. Then the free hand went to
the mouth, removed the match stick and flicked it away from him.
"You
be looking for Calamity Janeway, pardner?" he asked.
The
men at the tables sat still, some pausing their drinks mid-way between table top
and mouth, others holding their hands close to their chests so no one could see
their cards. One Anonymous Cowboy - not the one whose pappy was called E.
Pennesitum Romania - was holding one of Sandrine's Other Girls ( they be the
ones who lined the sheets of the upstairs rooms) - and his hand
stopped right at her frilly garter after he slid same hand all the way from her
ankle up her leg just to feel the silk stockings Sandrine imported all the way
from France. Said she was a cousin of Emile Lafayette of unknown birth, though
claiming he was related to the great Lafayette. Anyway, Cousin Emile was in the
silk exporting business of dubious reputation. Sandrine's Other Girl, her
flounce skirt all over her
customer, successfully hid the cowboy's crotch. A good thing it was too, since
he was on the point of embarrassing himself and seeing Pock Face challenging the
Stranger created enough of a diversion to down the ramrod Cowboy.
Now
it must be said that the Triple S's pianoman had a gift for entries. When the
stranger entered, he banged dramatically on the keyboard, the first notes of
"It could have been me". Every time someone moved or spoke, he banged
the honky tonk. Pianoman had given back the Stetson Calamity Janeway had shot
from Pock Face's head to the owner. He wore his own black bowler hat. He
favoured those hats, said he liked to make his old man the Admiral spittin' mad.
Pianoman - or Kid Paris as some called him - wore braces and dirty pink long
johns and armbands holding up the sleeves of a nice snowy white flounce shirt.
That sort of completed the picture. Oh yes, he gripped a cigar between the
teeth, to the left side of the mouth and grinned wickedly at the hapless Pock
Face while banging on the honky tonk. The grin had become his trade mark, and
Bella Torres, whom he loved and hated at the same time, gave him a hard time.
But that was another story.
He
too, paused when Pock Face spoke.
"I
said, you be looking for Calamity Janeway, pardner?"
The
Stranger moved. The floorboards creaked and the spurs clinked. Actions remained
suspended. The Nameless Cowboy endured the next ramrod when Sandrine's Other
Girl - the girl was extraordinarily blonde with very large bazooms and fleshy,
pouty lips - wiggled her bottom over her man's crotch at the same time she flung
her bare arms round his neck and gave a plaintive cry.
"What's
it to you?" the voice boomed in the saloon.
Pianoman
Paris wondered suddenly where Sandrine was, or for that matter Bella Torres,
when he turned and looked at the owner of the voice. He knew that surely, with
this Stranger amongst them, there'd be a killing today and the Sheriff would be
having a lone inmate in his single cell jail at last. The inmate would surely
not be the burly stranger who looked like he could haul a barrel of rum off the
Admiral's vessel over his shoulder with ease.
"You
be the man she's wants to kill?" Pock Face persisted.
"You be wanting to kiss the floor?" the man asked gruffly. Then he approached Tuhbe Truman at the bar and leaned over the counter. Pock Face lifted the brim of his hat with one finger, only a tad, so he could see his companion at the bar.
"Sir, what can I do for you?" asked Tuhbe Truman.
"Looking for Two Gun Calamity. Seen her some?"
"Who is looking?" asked Pock Face.
The stranger kicked at Pock Face's foot still crossed over the other foot. The next moment Pock Face didn't look inscrutable anymore as his hat flew off and his face grew red. He was also lying flat on his back on the floor where the Indian's heavy black boot held him down. Surely Pock Face could have drawn his gun right there, but it seemed to him that it would be a lost cause, seeing as the position he was lying in, didn't encourage such hasty actions. Besides, the Indian's hands never left his sides where everyone could see the fingers of those hands were constantly moving as if they been itching a long time to get them round the triggers and blast the next man's head off.
There was a stirring. Pipe Gantry, sobered up enough and holding his cards against his chest, roared with laughter. Kid Papa, who wore his pappy's Stetson as a sign of respect because his pappy died in a duel, took his hat and threw it up and it landed neatly back on his head. Seemed he wasn't so wet behind the ears after all. Maybe Sandrine's Other Girls taught him some secrets, who knew?
"Who asked you, punk?" the man's voice roared. He pushed the brim of his hat slightly back. Only now they could see his face. It looked to them like the man could fight them lions in Daniel's den one by one and tear their jaws apart. A nerve twitched in his jaw. They could see a tattoo painted over his left eyebrow.
"It's the Indian," Pipe Gantry's companion whispered.
"Might be. I ain't playing poker with that one. Look what happened before."
"He's thee one," said another saloon fly, his head lolling on his neck.
"Hey!"
"Aye, Sir?" Tuhbe responded instantly.
"You be selling cider?"
"Huh?"
"You heard me."
"Cider? Uh... We have peach brandy - "
The man pulled Tuhbe right over the counter; the glasses shaved out of the way and landed on the floor, one right on Pock's Face. Pock Face wanted to bluster, but the Stranger kicked him in the side.
"Get up."
Pock Face groaned some, then slumped again. Then The Indian glared at Tuhbe.
"Is this a weasel I see before me?"
Tuhbe's Shakespearean heart lifted when he heard the Indian sounded like a kindred spirit. Tuhbe smiled broadly, forgetting momentarily the Indian asked for cider and called him a weasel. So his Shakespearean heart, recognising someone else of same heart apparently, warmed instantly to The Indian.
"Get thee to a nunnery."
"What, me?" The Indian have a snort. "You tell that to...her..." and the Indian - for now everyone could see plainly he was an Indian or, heaven forbid, The Indian - nodded in the direction of Sandrine's Other Girl plastered over Ramrod, and it was clear to everyone who looked at Ramrod and the Girl, that he was having problems again of explaining to his wife at the ranch why his trousers had a damp patch at the crotch.
"Hey, Annika! Get thee to a nunnery!" Tuhbe shouted at her. He turned to The Indian. "She's from Scan - Scanda - Scandal - whatever, and says her pappy, Magnus Hansen, is a pastor there," Tuhbe whispered conspiratorially to The Indian. Tuhbe even held his hand over his mouth as he whispered and gave the impression he was giving away delicious little tidbits about Annika Hansen to The Indian.
"Now, the cider - "
"She be lining your sheets for you - "
This time Tuhbe lay kissin' the floor boards, while Pock Face rose heavily to his feet, the spurs scoring patterns in the wood as he got up. The Indian bent down.
"Is this a dagger you see before you?" he asked Tuhbe, to which Tuhbe nodded his head so hard that Tracy Donahue, whose mother named him Tracy 'cause she liked the name and said at his christening in Dodge City where he was born, that the name will go down in history as a boy's name, stood up and held Tuhbe's head so it won't fall off.
"Thank you, Tracy," Tuhbe said while he wondered where the dagger had sprung from since he had not seen one.
The Indian smiled. Tracy Donahue saw the dimples and prayed he was born a girl. Annika Hansen saw the dimples and instantly left Ramrod stranded with his rod rammed and walked lazily over to The Indian. She was big, blonde and beautiful. That was the opinion of Tracy Donahue and Kid Papa and Anonymous Cowboy who winked and drooled at her as she floated past them. Only Pipe Gantry ignored her; he kicked his partner on the shin and commanded "play, punk." To which the Punk hastily dropped his cards and Pipe Gantry, long time vanquished by Calamity Janeway in a drinking contest, leered viciously at his partner. "Your woman be sleeping in my bed tonight," as he declared his cards on the table.
"You new in these parts...Sir...?" Annika Hansen purred, strutting before the Indian.
"You old in these parts...lady?"
There was no mistakin' what the Indian meant and Annika Hansen pouted as she tapped her foot.
"I'm good."
"You heard the barman."
"I heard nothin'"
"Seems to me like you need some education in human development. But I ain't givin' it to you..."
Laughter rose up, and Annika Hansen strode back and sulked on Ramrod's lap again; being promised he'd give her some humanity in one of Sandrine's rooms made for love, she nodded tearfully and looked innocent.
Right at that moment, when Pianoman took up the keys again and launched friskily into "Ain't misbehavin'", Bella Torres stood at the top of the curved stairway of the saloon. She saw The Indian; her eyes lit up, her arms went up and she screamed loudly a whoop of joy, followed by -
"Chakotay!"
Then she ran down the steps.
"Watch out!" cried Kid Papa. Hands paused high over the keys of the honky tonk and Kid Paris sprang from his stool.
"Bella!"
Bella's long skirt hooked into her shoe and at the tenth step from the bottom, Bella stumbled and pitched forward. She screamed one moment and the next, she was held safely in a pair of strong arms.
It was not Kid Papa who caught Bella Torres as she was catapulted over the head of a drunken cowboy who sat on the lowest stair. It was not Pianoman Paris who once shot three friends accidentally - so he always claimed, it was accidental - who hoped to catch Bella Torres and missed. Pipe Gantry was too busy crying victory at winning his partner's woman in poker.
At the bottom of the stairway The Indian, whom everyone now heard loud and clear was named Chakotay, stood smiling with great deep dimples as he held a surprised Bella Torres in his arms. He had long forgotten he ordered cider, and dismissed Pock Face and put Tuhbe back over the counter and had time to sheath his dagger no one knows where, before speeding to the stairway, pushing aside tables and chairs and seated cowboys on his way there.
"Bella Torres, what are you doing here?"
"Chakotay!" she gasped, her almost calamitous fall forgotten, "what are you doing here?"
Chakotay put her down, and when someone nudged his arm, it was Pianoman Paris come to claim his woman.
"This one is mine, I believe."
"Who in the name of the Sky Spirits are you?"
"Leave him, Chakotay. He's a pig with a big mouth and small hands and small balls."
"Hey!"
"Good. I'll just kick the snot out of him quickly, then he can go - "
"Hey, wait!" Tom blustered and hastily made his way to his honky tonk where he launched in double quick time into "Over there! Over there!"
"So, Chakotay Fleetfoot, what brings you to Goose Creek?"
"I - uh..." Chakotay Angry Warrior Fleetfoot looked for the first time like he could blush, but he quickly ordered his fierce look that made Tuhbe duck behind the counter and Unidentified Pourer rush away to another table where he peeped over the shoulders of Anonymous Cowboy who was trying to beat his partner in a poker game, same way as Pipe Gantry did. Anonymous Cowboy figured he was safer away from Chakotay and decided his chances at winning a woman better.
"You gonna freeze up on me, Chakotay?"
"I am looking for Calamity Janeway - "
"Hey," Pock Face shouted at his audience, "what I tell you? The man came looking for that crazy bitch what shot off my pimple - "
The next moment, Pock Face's hat flew off his head and it was carried through the air with a dagger through its brim flying at great speed all the way to the double door of the saloon where it lodged in the left door, and the door swung first out, then loped back in again and then kept on swinging until it stopped.
"Hey, where'd my hat go? What I do?" Pock Face asked dumbly as he looked at Chakotay. "That's my new hat!"
"No one calls my woman a bitch," Chakotay said and he advanced on Pock Face. Tuhbe became small behind the counter; Pipe Gantry actually paused in mid-air with his cards; Kid Papa stalled in his tracks and Bella smiled like a cat; Tracy Donahue ran around taking bets. A darkness fell over Pock Face as The Indian loomed over him. All dressed in black, with long hair and dimples - the man was a fine specimen of Indian - he stood ready to blast the Pock's head off. He had to smile more. Bella Torres always thought he smiled too little, but women wanted him in their beds, just like Annika Hansen made a fool of herself and got insulted for her troubles. Bella said years later to her husband Pianoman Paris, the Almighty sure as hell did love that Indian. Anyways, he loomed over Pock Face and everyone in the saloon, even Annika Hansen who glared balefully at losing a good client customer, held their breaths.
"Did you hear me?"
"Me? I never saw her in my life - "
"How come you missing a pimple?"
"I shaved - "
"Lying, sniveling punk. That be a signature of Calamity Janeway." Chakotay grabbed his shirt front, pulled him off his feet and hissed, "Go, get your hat." Then he dropped Pock Face. They could hear his untrained ankles creak from the effort of landing.
Pock Face started to shiver. Bella was stunned. She had just realised something calamitous.
"Chakotay, you are the Indian who won Calamity Janeway in a poker game?"
Chakotay didn't look at Bella Torres. He kept his eyes on Pock Face who shuffled carefully to the door. Chakotay's hands were idling about half an inch away from his loosened holsters. Pock Face's hands were close to his holster. "Something's gotta give," was the new tune Kid Paris belted out on the keyboard.
"If you weren't my cousin, Bella Torres, I'd put you over my knee and whack that bottom of yours so you can't sit down for the next five hundred years. Then again, maybe because you're my cousin, I should tan your hide for being in this hell hole."
Bella didn't want to tell him that Calamity Janeway rode out of Goose Creek four weeks ago, swearing high heaven how she'd kill the varmint who didn't deserve being called a man. Everyone knew that she was mad at one particular individual and most of them wished that the one particular individual would make his appearance and shoot it out at high noon in Goose Creek under the watchful eye of the Sheriff so that all of them could go home and sleep peacefully.
"Then I won't tell you what I know - "
"That be good enough for me. That there weasel slinking to the door, he's gonna tell," Chakotay replied as he turned his attention away from Pock Face who reached the double swing doors of Sandrine's Triple S, inherited from her Grand-mère who was really a Grossmutter.
Then it happened, what everyone in the saloon except Pock Face knew. He was minus his hat which was pinned to the left door of Sandrine's, but he had drawn his gun. Chakotay had been looking at Bella when Pock Face drew his gun.
Three shots rang out. One came from Pock Face's gun.
The mirror above the shelf carrying the cider which Barman Tuhbe didn't know was there all the time - the label read "Apple Wine from the High Valley" - shattered and slid down the shelf and to the floor in their hundreds of pieces. A loud sigh went up from the patrons - drunks, more drunks, Pipe Gantry who was sober for once, Annika Hansen whose green eyes narrowed; Kid Papa who dreamed of sharp shooting just like that; Unidentified Pourer who let the gin run on the floor as he missed the glass the Cowboy was holding.
The other two shots were aimed at Pock Face and they hit their mark. One hit Pock's left hand as he tried to disengage his hat, and the other just shaved another pimple off his face.
"Now you can shoot his peepee off too," said Bella Torres.
Chakotay blew the smoke from his Smith&Wessons, then gave Bella a long look that dared her to defy him.
"So, you going to tell me which way Calamity Janeway was headin'?"
"So, you gonna tell me how come she hate you so much?"
****