The Gold of Whiterock Creek closed for ArcticAvenue and Wideeyedone

The Whiterock Creek Saloon was filled to capacity. Miners and the merchants getting rich of of the miners sat shoulder to shoulder as they either celebrated or consoled themselves with pints of beer or shots of whiskey.

The air was thick with odor of spilled beer, sawdust, dirt and sweat. Thomas MacBreyer sat on his stool like a king looking over his kingdom. And that is just what it was. He owned the saloon, two stores, and the lumber mill. He also owned the bartender, the piano player, the card dealer and the six women that worked upstairs mostly on their backs. His newest acquisition was Janie Parker. Her husband had died owing him six hundred dollars. Even selling his busted stake had not been enough to clear his debts. So now Janie was working for him.

He watched as Janie wiped down the whiskey soaked counter. Her dark hair was beginning to come loose from the pins she used to keep it up off of her neck. Janie's big brown eyes were focused on the counter. Thomas knew she was trying not to be noticed. He could see the deep flush that colored her skin. The men watched her hungrily but Thomas had not put her to work upstairs. Not yet. He was enjoying tormenting her, keeping her to himself. He used the threat of working upstairs to keep the young widow Parker in line.

There were hundreds of men in Whiterock Creek and only a few dozen women. The only six professional women worked for MacBreyer. Some men came in to drink just to hear the rustle of skirts and hear a woman's laugh.

The bartender signaled Janie to come over to the bar. He was a grizzled fellow that had busted out on his stake. He poured a snifter of brandy and then warmed it over the candle behind the bar.

"The boss is thirsty." His voice was graveled and low. He felt badly for the girl but there was no way to help her. She should have married some other miner when her husband died. She had been too deep in mourning, or too stubborn and now she was tangled in debt to the boss. "Girl, don't make him mad. Hurry along."

Janie placed the warmed snifter on the tray. She took a deep breath and steadied her hand. She delivered the drink to him wordlessly. MacBreyer slid his hand up the back of her thigh over her skirts.

"You are good for business, Janie. The miners like your sweet face. They all want to know when you are going to go to work upstairs." He pushed out the chair opposite him with his foot. "Sit down, darling girl. You have been on your feet all evening."

Janie sat down stiffly. She could feel eyes on her. She knew many in the crowd were watching her. Four of his women were coming down the stairs. She watched them as they sauntered down the steps, looking for their next customers. The miners began to whoop and holler. The music got louder and the piano player pounded on the piano.

"And the party starts again...." MacBreyer whispered as he kissed Janie on the cheek. "I have raised their prices and still they pay up...."

Janie watched the crowd. She knew some of the men from her former life in the mining camp. The other faces were becoming familiar to her from her nights in the saloon. There were some new faces at the door. She recognized the hope and adventure she saw on their faces. They were new to the Black Hills and they were looking for gold.

“Peter. Peter Johansson. From Minnesota. Just arrived here from there today actually. Chasing the dream of gold like the rest of ya, I’m sure. My uncle Torger, well, had a claim right out there by Whiterock, don’tcha know. Papa says he probably won it in a card game, but I’m not one to spit in the eye of the Lord’s plan. Supposed to be an old shaft right up the creek. Uncle Torger says the map says there’s a hit there, but I don’t know much about that. Since Joe -- that’s my brother, Joe Johansson -- since Joe is the oldest he gets the farm when Papa wants it. So Uncle Torger says to me he needed someone to work the claim. So Papa says I might as well come out for the winter to strike it rich. That way if the claim is dead, I can just go back to work on the farm. Joe says he will let me work, on account I worked there the whole life I did. So thats why I come here. Come all the ways out from Minnesota. Just here long enough to stop by the store, buy me supplies, and still have the old mare I bought down in Lynch. Reconning, I need just the tools and such, live here in town since the claim is just up the creek there. You know the creek, sure, where my claim is. So that, sure, that’s why I am here. Need a stable for the mare, ya betcha.”

Peter looked to the stable keeper who sat there listening the whole time, his old face drooping like someone cursed to a long slow death. “75 cents a night, hay to horses.”

Peter pulled his soft rimmed hat off his head and held it in front of his frame. He was told to be ready for swindlers when he arrived, and this must be the first of them. The old man was nothing compared to Peter’s tall, farm built frame, and kept blonde hair, but now he regrets wearing his work overhauls over his clean blue shirt thinking a more Sunday look would give him more respect round these parts. “75 cents is quite stiff, sir. Back home, a fella can get a stable for ten cents.”

“Why don’t cha run back home then and stable your horse there, Minnesota.”

Peter frowned, pulled his money out and paid the man. It was already too late to give it much more of an argument. Come tomorrow, when he can move the goods to the claim, he can worry about a right way to keep his horse. With this, the first day in Whiterock, he didn’t need to spend the day haggling about it.

Instead it was the ache in his stomach that needed attention. With a bit of food, a nice beer, and a chance to meet the other local miners; Peter will surely be ready for a good night’s rest before his first day of work.

Yet pressing his way into the crowded saloon. that didn’t seem to be full of hope either. There was little room to sit, and the bar was about as full with standers. The music was loud, dancers drew the attention away from any chit chat, and he was beginning to doubt if there was even a bowl of stew to be had in this place. Still he found his way to the bar, leaned against it, and waited - tight lipped, and patient.

This may not be what he expected to see here, but soon enough any trouble will be worth the gold that will come flowing into his pockets.

MacBreyer scowled at Janie. "Don't look so miserable. Smile for God's sake." Janie sipped in a long breath and then smiled. She looked at her boss up through her eyelashes.

"I will go help Jake behind the bar." She rushed back to help serve the crowd. She poured several beers and took orders for meal offering of the day, stew and cornbread. The cornbread smelled heavenly and reminded Janie of home. She had grown up in the corn fields of Iowa. Before she married Danny Parker she had thought she would spend her whole life looking at corn stalks. But Danny had been a man of big dreams. The smell of cornbread was the smell of home.

She filled bowls with stew and delivered them to the bustling tables. Some of the men grumbled about the size of their serving but she just smiled and joked with them. "Mr. Jones, if you want better stew you are going to have to find a wife. But then again if you had a fine wife I wouldn't get to see you every night or do your bundle of washing on Tuesday."

Working in the saloon wasn't bad as long as she could avoid MacBreyer. Only a few hours left and then she could go to the boarding house and sleep for a few hours. Then she would get up and start her second job as a washer woman.

Jake nudged her. "That new fella has waited long enough. Go see what he needs before the card sharps and swindlers descend on him."

Janie smiled at the stranger. "Welcome to Whiterock. What can we do for you tonight?" Her big brown eyes were filled with warmth. This new fellow almost radiated with hope and promise.

There was something about this saloon that made Peter’s heart thump a little harder. No doubt the entertainment in the room helped, with the music, the dancing girls, and a singer here and there. No doubt the warmth of the room, with all the body heat and fireplaces burning. The smell of cornbread fluttered through the room, like that his mother used to make from feed right out of the fields. To Peter, however, it was the money. Men at the bar were throwing coins for drinks like they made them themselves. Card players had paper bills they seemed unafraid to gamble. And enough men were heading upstairs for a night’s sleep that there must have been fifty rooms up there, and they surely were nice rooms with the coins they were paying the cleaning ladies.

Blue eyes wide, smile even wider, nothing could make this night nicer surly to him.

"Welcome to Whiterock. What can we do for you tonight?"

Peter turned to see the woman behind the bar. His eyes jumped open, and he stood stunned for a minute. The woman behind the bar was surely beautiful, not in the strong farm life girls back home, but with some real beauty, dressed as such as well.

Once he caught his brain he grabbed his hat and held it in his hands in the most gentlemanly way he could think. “Good Evening Ma’am.” he replied with a bit of his midwestern sing-song coming out with his words. “Whatever a fella could drink would sure be fine. If it’s not to much trouble I’d like one of the stews that fella there has, and the cornbread of course. You betcha, sure does smell good that cornbread.”

He finished the request with a smile, warm as he could give it. Beautiful woman like this, she sure is worth being friendly too.

Janie couldn't help it. Her real smile spread across her face, all the way up to her chocolate brown eyes.

"I will get you the dinner special. Stew and a beer." She patted his hand before she went back to the bubbling pot. She dipped a serving of the stew into a pewter bowl. She sliced him a hunk of cornbread.

"Now, new fella. Let me give you a piece of advice. Everyone is going to offer to extend you credit. It will seem like a good idea. Don't do it. Don't start a tab with anyone. Pay as you go. Believe me, okay? And don't tell anyone I told you so. Cause my boss is going to be the first person to try to give you a loan." Her voice shook a little as she looked up to MacBreyer on his throne.

"I hope you hit it big, new fella." She offered him another smile. "Dinner will cost you 25 cents."

She took his money and then began pouring a pitcher of beer for the men playing cards.

"If you need a room, there are still a few available. This isn't the quietest place to sleep but it is clean, and safe. You won't get robbed in your sleep."

With the bowl placed in front of him, Peter paused a moment listening to the woman’s advice. He turned the hat in his hands slowly, taking in her suggestion. There was something fascinating about her, not just the way she looked but the confidence she showed, and almost worldliness about her. He dropped a hand to his pocket and dug around until he found a 25 cent piece, placing it onto the bar next to the dinner.

“Oh geez, thank you for the advice, Ma’am. Sure do appreciate it.” He put his spoon into the stew and stirred it some. “I think I might like the room too, ma’am. If it isn’t too much trouble, just for the night.”

He took the first taste of the stew and found it to be nothing really something to write home about. So he put his spoon back into the bowl and let it sit, instead taking a bit of the cornbread that while warm seemed like hardtack.

“Sorry if I am taken aback some, ma’am. Back where I am from, ya know, the women there don’t always offer advice to fellas; but I don’t know many women that would lie to a fella either.” He placed the cornbread into the stew, poking at it with the spoon in hopes to make it a little more chewable. “By the way, I am Peter, Peter Johansson, from Minnesota.”

Janie opened the rooming house ledger. She ran her finger down the ledger to find an open room.

"Well, Peter, I am Jane Parker... although everyone calls me Janie." She made a mark in the ledger and handed him a key with a paper tag labeled room 22. She wrote his name down in the ledger.

"There was a time when I would have never given a fellow business advice. But that is when I was living on our farm, with corn fields around me for as far as I could see. But this place isn't like that. " Janie felt her eyes well with tears. She blinked a few times and sipped in a deep breath. She managed to make them go away. "Whiterock is a hard place, Peter."

Lila, one of the saloon girls came and sidled up to Peter. Her face was painted with layers of rouge and she was doused in perfume.

"Do you need some company for the night, handsome?" Lila smiled, her voice syrupy sweet. "Or if not for the night, just for a tumble?"

Janie shook her head. "Lila, let the poor man eat. The cornbread tonight is hard as sin. You can sell your wares later..."

Janie gave Lila the eye until she moved on. "And you should stop telling folks you are from Minnesota. They can tell when you speak. Everyone here is from somewhere else. I am from Iowa."

Peter listened, and kept listening, it was about all he could do at this moment. This woman as worldly as she was seemed full of good information. She trusted him enough to sell a room without even asking about his parents or who could vouch for him like he expected. It was as if she knew him well just on site, yet there was something about that fact that seemed to affect her. He sighed heavily, realizing now that whatever she held it was covering something that was painful underneath. He had known strong women like that, mostly those who men ran off on them or gone to drink. Yet there was something else familar there.

Of course, all that was washed away when the new lady, Janie called Lila, sauntered up to him, asked him a few questions, and put her hand damn near his John Thomas. But as quick as she showed up, Janie had chased her off.

About nothing could bring Peter back to the reality of the conversation, except that one phrase that made it all made sense.

”I am from Iowa.”

“Well, that makes sense then,” he blurted. Then he caught himself and tried to explain. “That is .. well geeze, I was sure that there was something familiar about you. Iowans are practically neighbors, we’re practically neighbors then. No wonder why you are such a kind soul, you are.”

He lifted his hat up to his chest some and dropped his head a little. “If you don’t mind Janie, I would sure like to talk to you again. But I see you’re busy and I don’t want to trouble you much. Besides, I should get my rest, and some of the others here are not becoming. That lady? Who was just here? I think she’s a … well … one of those that makes a business of themselves, if you know what I mean. She nearly grabbed my family jewels.” He ended with a smile that tried to make it look like he was more worldly than he was, but one never knows if that could be believed.

Janie felt herself warm even more to Minnesota, as she fondly thought of him.

"I work here most knights, and I launder clothing during the day, so I am sure I will see you around. When you need your sheets and your clothing done, be sure to come see me. And as for Lila and her.....well, the other saloon girls. They do business upstairs to be sure. But I got you a room on the other side of the hall."

A miner down at the other end of the bar was hollering for another dinner special.

"Good luck to you, Peter... and keep your money on your person when you go to sleep just in case."

Janie scooped another stew and took it to the other end of the bar. Her boss was watching her every move, and his cold stare made Janie shiver. She grabbed a bucket of soapy water and began wiping down the table and collecting empty glasses. Concentrate on the work, she told herself. Don't feel anything, don't get attached to this dreamy eyed stranger.The Black Hills could eat him alive, just as they had her husband.

Of all the things that Peter thought he would find in Whiterock, sleep was the one thing he thought would be easier. If he was going to pay 25 cents for the room, he expected it to at least have a reasonable bed. It did not. When Janie said he was going to be on the other side of the hall, he thought it would be quiet of the sounds of the women and their customers. It was not. Least of all, the long ride out here should have left him so tired that the rest of it didn’t matter. It had not.

By sunrise, Peter had enough sleep to only suggest that he remember being out. When that first light found his room, he felt he no longer could keep himself from rolling around on the bed anymore and just needed to make the day his. Dropping off the key, he didn’t see Janie around, and that let him down some. Something about the woman suggested that he had lots to learn from her, and moreso that he wasn’t alone in this place. Still, she bled with cautiousness and self protection, something he was sure he would need in this town.

It only took his arrival at the stable to prove it. The old horse that he paid 75 cents to stable and hay was standing outside untethered. Seeing no one around, Peter realized that’s what the stable hand did with him, just left him there, no hay, no shelter. Luckily the poor thing wasn’t stolen right out of the street. Peter, tight lipped, circled back to where his gear was stored, and found that it took had been left out, and this was gone through. Thankfully again, this too wasn’t so bad as the violation it seemed to suggest. He had lost a pan, which Peter didn’t immediately think he needed; but mostly he lost a tarp that would have been part of his shelter until he could build a proper shanty. Still, what was he going to do, accept count his losses and get to work.

So to it he did. Following the maps given to him, he found the claim in just over an hour far up the creek and deep into a hollar. Along the way, the miners seemed to thin out, as did the claims. Peter was no fool, it meant one of two things - either there is gold no one dared to go find yet, or more likely there was no gold out this way. The claim was in a small rocky groove. Whoever worked it before started a mine of sorts, and dug back may thirty feet into the hillside. Peter may be new at this, but a quick look by candlelight said this was all rock. He was here, though, to look for gold - and he didn’t expect it to be just lying around.

A few hours and a small camp was set up, complete with enough markers to show the claim was being worked. It wasn’t quite noon, but if Peter hoped to stay out by the claim that night he still needed shelter. That meant going back into town and replacing his tarp. In truth, he could probably make due in the mind shaft with his blankets, and if he worked hard he’d have a shanty up in a couple days. But going back to town for a tarp sounded like a nice reward for the day.

Besides, if Janie was telling the truth, he’d find her at the laundry that afternoon; and that seemed to make the long trek back to town much much shorter. Finding the laundry quickly, he had a smile on his face that wouldn’t quit - so he just walked right in.

Her satin dress from the saloon was in her room. Janie was wearing a blue button down men's shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a long canvas skirt. Her feet were encased in battered brown leather boots. Her hair was tied back with a length of yellow ribbon. She was scrubbing sheets from the boarding house. Her eyes were focused on the sudsy water and the scrubbing board. There was a pot of water boiling over a fire, ready for the next batch of dirty sheets.

She took a break to swipe the sweat from her forehead. When she looked up and saw Peter with his smile. It was almost like a memory. She found herself holding her breath, and then she realized it was Peter.

She wrung out the sheets she was washing and hung them on the line.

"Hey, stranger." She offered warmly. "Did you hit a vein of gold in those hills yet?"

Peter pulled his hat off, and kept his smile blazing across his lips. “Sorry ma’am, the only lucky I can thank the lord for is running across you, I guess.”

She looked definitely different than the night before in her work garb. He knew he probably didn’t since he was still in the same shirt and overalls he had on the night before, but this was definitely a change for her. “I must admit, ma’am. You definitely look more Iowan today,” he smirked. “You gotcha yourself a good old farm girl look to you there.”

He stepped in a little farther and let his hands with his hat drop to his side. “I hope you don’t mind me coming in and interrupting you at all.”

Janie tossed the next set of sheets in the boiling water and pushed them into the steaming water with a wooden paddle.

"I am glad to see a friendly face."Janie couldn't help but smile. "I am going to stop for lunch. Would you like to join me? There is a little spot down the way where I sit in the sun, enjoy the breeze and eat. It is a nice rest before I come back and finish."

Janie took the clothes pins out of the pocket of her skirt and tossed them into one of baskets of sheets.

"Are you hungry?"

He felt the immediate need to be no trouble, it is his way. Not to be bothersome especially to one at work, but the way she moved about the laundry in a manner that was as simple as any girl he knew back home brought out an edge of homesickness to him.

“Well, seems mining make me hungry, ma’am. And you do paint a picture of a nice lunch.”

He slid his hat back up to his head, peered out of the laundry tent stretching his arms somewhat, and smiling. “Oh, I be there be not as not so nice of days as this. Surely not many that we can’t take to enjoy.” The stretch of the fabric against his torso felt comforting, like that of the memory of the hot days on the farm. The freshness of the hillside work back at the claim wafted from the fabric as well. It seemed to contrast with the harshness of the smell of soap at water in the laundry, but only encouraged him to enjoy the smells of the warm day.

Remembering the offer he turned back to her, “If you lead the way, ma’am, surely I will follow.”

Janie led Peter to the edge of the stream that ran through town. She dipped out some of the cold water. She reached into her lunch pail and offered him half of her sandwich.

"The bread is fresh, and the venison isn't too tough." She offered with a smile. She swallowed a few gulps of the cold water. She was still hot from the laundry.

"So, Peter... How is your claim? Does it seem like a good one?"

Janie smoothed her hair.

"Our claim was on the west bank of Whiterock Creek. We only pulled a little gold of it. I never thought I would say this, but I miss working the claim. Panning the water, sifting through the dregs of the mine. I would much rather sweat doing that than slinging drinks and wiping down the bar for half of the night."

Janie did her best to smile at Peter. If she allowed herself to feel it, the weight of the world would rest on her shoulders again.

Peter was chewing on the sandwich as he listened to her talk. Even in her tired, hard working state of dress, she was still quite fetching. Yet her heard a word in what she told him that started to sink in his gut like a rock. A single word. ‘We’. She wasn’t here alone.

He swallowed hard on the meat, losing his interest in food, and offered her the response he supposed she deserved. “Hard to tell if the claim is anything but rock. Not my claim even. My Uncle Torger, its his claim, he says there is gold there. But he only heard it from a fella back in Minnesota he got it from, probably in a card game. Its up a ways, back in one of them coulees or what have ya. Spent most my time this morning getting there and back again. I has to dig at it a bit until I sees something to say it’s anything, ya know.”

He was tearing the bread and meat in front of him absently, but after a short pause he looked back at her.

“So this claim of yours. Your husband the only one working it now? That why you don’t work it?”

Janie's voice was caught in her throat for a moment.

"Our claim belongs to the saloon owner. My husband died in a mine shaft collapse. He was crushed by the rocks. It took a hours for the other miners to dig him out, but he was gone."

Janie blinked hard and then swiped the tears that came away with the back of her hand.

"I am sorry. I forget that not everyone knows. All of the miners know, since they helped dig Dan out. He is buried up on that hill."

Janie pointed across the stream at the makeshift church up at the hill. Janie drank more of the cold water. She straightened her shoulders and took a few deep breaths. All evidence of her tears was gone.

Peter dropped his head to the ground, kicking at a rock with his foot.

“Sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have pried, I shouldn't.”

He slid his hat off and beat some of the dust from it. He picked at the stitches of his overalls. He shifted his feet in the dirt. Anything to stop for the moment and think, really think, about how now to make her feel any worse.

“That explains why you no so much of this place. Why it seems you are as helpful to fellas like me. As far as I can tell, you’re about the nicest soul here. Might be the only nice one.”

He picked up a rock and threw it towards the creek like he did as a kid. The action made him realize he was being a bit childish anyway. Sure it was an uncomfortable conversation to talk about someone’s death, especially the husband of a pretty woman, but this wasn’t about what makes him comfortable or not.

“Do you plan to stay here? Whiterock I mean? Now you don’t have to stay to work the claim?”

Janie thought for a moment before she answered.

"Now, don't go feeling bad. You had no way of knowing what happened." She took another drink of water.

"I don't know what I am going to do next. But I have to pay off my debts. My husband, Danny, he had taken a lot of credit. So, I am working hard to pay those debts. I have sold what we had. But I can't really go home, my folks have passed on. And Danny's family, well, they feel like it is my fault their son died so far away from home. So, I am not sure what is next for me." Janie took down her hair, and retwisted up into a bun and put her hair pins back in.

"For now, I have a dozen or so sheets to still wash and get out to dry before the sun goes down. Will I see you at the saloon tonight? Tonight's dinner is hash and potatoes. It is better than the stew." She got up off the ground and brushed off her skirt. She picked up a rock and hurled it into the creek. She wasn't sure why, perhaps to make Peter feel more at ease. Maybe to see if it would make her feel better.

"Have you bought dry goods yet? I will go with you to the general store if you like, make sure you get a fair price. These people will bleed you dry if you don't watch them."

Janie headed back down the hard packed path to the laundry.

It seemed too short. It seemed just as they sat down it was time to end their lunch. She had the right spirit, though, no time to sit about and time to get work done.

“No need, ma’am. I do need to stop at the store for a tarp, but I troubled you enough for sure.” He stood, brushed the dust from his britches, and replaced his hat. “Besides, you keep helping me out and fellas may think you was sweet on me.”

As soon as he said those words, he swallowed hard hoping not to regret it. For one thing, it’s probably no longer proper to keep calling her ‘ma’am’ being as he realizes now reference to her marriage means he is likely reminding her of her late husband.. Even further, it’s not his place to suggest that any widow be sweet on any fella. Probably what ached at him the most is that he was basically suggesting he didn’t want her to be sweet on him - something he didn’t mind at all.

Sheepishly he just mumbled an “anyways, good day see you tonight” and left her quickly.

So quickly that when he found himself back at his claim, he realized he completely forgot to purchase the tarp. Angry with himself, he got back to work. By nightfall, the structure of his shelter was up, even if a tarp was still needed to finish it. It mean felling and hauling a fair bit of trees for timber, and roughing out areas for the good working space and dry sleeping ground. When the sun began to set, the site started looking like a proper claim. All it needed was a few slews, a few tools, and a pile of tailing to suggest that work was happening. He noticed the air start to cool with a wetness that suggesting that a night outside may be a problem tonight.

Besides, what better excuse to come back to town than to find a bed one last time. An idea that excited him more than he expected. It was quite obvious why, since the brief moments between work filled his head with Janie. He was dirty and smelt of the hard work of the afternoon, so he considered finding a bath before finding the saloon - but then, his mind let him do nothing but find the saloon first.

Janie had managed to catch a short nap after she had finished her shift at the laundry. She curled up on her bed in her room upstairs at the saloon. She awakened to MacBreyer pounding on her door. She tied her dressing gown around her tightly and opened the door.

MacBreyer shoved a red satin dress at her. "This is what I want you to wear tonight. Wash up and pin up your hair. And smile for God's sakes. This isn't a funeral parlor"

Janie wiped the sleep from her eyes and nodded. He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"Life wouldn't be so hard for you if you would go home, or marry one of these miners that wants you. If he could pay off your debts.... or you could be my girl... work off your debts without slinging drinks and washing sheets."

Janie shook her head and pushed the door closed.

She washed up and pinned her hair up. She slithered into the satin dress and corseted it tightly. The bodice was low cut and she felt as if her breasts were on display.

She made her way down to the saloon. The room was already loud with voices, glasses clinking and voices. She felt her cheeks flush as eyes fell on her. Janie took her place behind the bar. Part of her hoped that Peter wouldn't come in and see her dressed liked the doxies that made their living upstairs.

Buttoning up his shirt, Peter looked over his shoulder watching the two other bearded men scrubbing up at the horse trough. He wasn’t going to pay 2 bits for a bath, not after only one day in this place, Besides, it wasn’t that Janie was going to be sniffing under his armpits or nothing. Still, it was nice to think he was cleaning up for someone, and not just because.

He thought a lot about her the rest of the day. The widow left in this town but from good midwest stock. She was kind to him, took a liking to him like any girl might if she was sweet on him ever. Doesn’t matter if she was a woman he should keep his hands off of or to let her be in morning; it just is nice to get the attention of a pretty woman.

Pushing open the doors of the saloon, he was once again hit with the sound and sights of the likes he would never see back home. Music was playing, men were spilling over tables full of cards, drinks, and loose women. His stomach ached for something, no matter how bad, to fill his gullet. He found a place at the bar to stand, and waited. For a place so full of bad things, he stood as full of hope as he did in many months. No doubt in waiting for as much someone as something to happen.

Jane felt conspicuous in the corseted satin dress. But she did her best to focus on the work. The saloon was full. One of the miners had found a vein of gold and he was buying drinks and turns with the girls upstairs for his friends.

Jane had already emptied several bottles of whiskey. The room smelled of beer, whiskey, sweaty miners, and cheap perfume. Jane filled bowls with the hash and potatoes and served the tables of men.

She collected several coins in tips and dropped them into the purse she had tied to her wrist.

She spotted Peter and waved him to the bar. Just as Jane was getting back behind the bar, a whiskey glass flew by her and hit the wall. A fight broke out at one of the card tables. Someone was yelling about cheating, the fight was spreading. Some men were just drunk enough to join the fight. Jane ducked behind the bar, and was startled to see that her arm was bleeding. A piece of the broken glass had hit her arm.

MacBreyer rounded up some of the more sober fellows to help him break up the fight. MacBreyer was not above knocking some heads. He and his cronies tossed the offenders out into the dirt road.

Jane wrapped her arm with one of the towels behind the bar. She looked at Peter with a wry smile.

"You can't say we don't have adventures here in Whiterock."

When things started flying, Peter had to jump to miss some of it. A chair there, a bottle here, and a fight like that he had only heard of at such a place was happening right in front of his eyes. Before it really became more than anything, it was over just as quick. Only when the man of this place started calling out for help to break up the fight when Peter came to his senses and stepped back to not be so volunteered.


Then as the senses became more clear, he immediately thought for Jane. He quickly looked around the room to find her, to make sure she was safe, to be sure this nonsense laid victim to her.

"You can't say we don't have adventures here in Whiterock."

Her voice immediately answered his questions about her safety, helped him identify her whereabouts, and all at once calmed his concern. Then he spotted the towel and signs of blood.

“Oh cripes, your hurt,” he jumped moved as close to her from across the bar. “Is it bad, Jane? We should clean that we should, before it is much worse than this.”

Jane removed the towel and the gash in her arm was pretty bad.

"We can pour some whiskey on it. It will burn but it will get it cleaned. And maybe I should go see Doc." She mused.

The saloon was back to normal and MacBreyer came over. He watched as Janie poured a shot of whiskey over the cut and then covered it again, pressing the towel down to stop the bleeding.

"Go see, Doc, Janie. Then come back and finish your shift." Janie nodded and took off her apron. Her tightly corseted dress was now fully visible. She hoped Peter wouldn't think poorly of her. She knew she looked like a doxie.

Peter walked with her as she left the saloon and headed down the main dirt road.

"Doc was a doctor back east, he came out here to hit it rich, but his claim busted and now he takes care of injured miners and has even delivered a baby or two. He will be able stitch me up."

Janie pounded on his door and Doc welcomed them inside his ramshackle home. Doc was in his forties and wore tiny glasses. He looked like a city doctor and not a miner.

He looked at her cut.
"Sit down Janie. We need to get that stitched up."

He offered her a draught of laudanum. But she refused, telling him she had to go back to work. He shook his head.

He started stitching up her arm and Janie bit her lip, silent tears dripping down her cheeks. She hated to cry in front of these men, but she couldn't hold it in any longer.