AnotherOldGuy
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 5, 2012
- Posts
- 393
Matthew Taylor was sitting at the poker table with his back to the wall. People who didn't know him well might have thought it was so he wouldn't get shot in the back, like Will Bill Hickok had five years earlier in Deadwood, up in the Dakota Territory.
Those who knew him, though, understood that Taylor simply liked to eye ball the Saloon Girl, Sally. She was young and fresh and -- while she didn't dress or act any different than the other two Girls whose primary reason for being here was to part their thighs upstairs for coin -- she was pure as snow. It didn't seem possible, but her father, the Saloon Keeper, had assured Taylor that the only reason she was in such a den of inequity was because he needed a draw to get the local cowboys and transient settlers to come inside and put down their money. He hadn't wanted his little girl to ever step foot out of the kitchen. But, he learned quickly as she entered her teens, she couldn't cook anymore than a mule could breed, so he brought her out front, kept a close eye on her, spread the word to the locals that she was untouchable, and went back to work trying to make a living.
Sally was a draw, too, likely the best looking woman Taylor had ever met. He'd had his own nasty little thoughts about her just seconds after entering the saloon that first time. He hadn't had a chance to act on them, of course; shoot outs and bullets through the thigh have a way of getting in the way of lust and romance.
He knew better today than to even consider untoward interaction with the beauty. And yet, while he knew he would never lay hands upon Sally, he couldn't help but want to lay eyes upon her, as he was now, peeking past the two cowboys and one ranch hand he was playing cards with.
It didn't help that she so often flashed that smile his way, letting him know that she, too, likely had interest in him ... and, too, knew it wasn't going to happen. Her father had plans for Sally, a rich banker on his way west to San Francisco who was taking a detour to Crossroads to deliver a bag of gold that the man had apparently inherited ... and, of course, to take a gander at what he'd been told was the most beautiful virgin in all of the West.
Taylor laid out his cards, saying with a proud voice, "Six high straight."
One after another, the other players mucked their hands, each growling as was their nature. Taylor pulled the stack of chips his way; it was a massive three dollar pot, a fun game's winnings that was more about bragging rights than getting rich. Taylor looked up, about to rib the man who'd been banking on his three tens taking the post, when he saw another fresh, young face step into the saloon.
Evan Williams didn't have to search much to find Taylor; besides a drover passed out at the bar -- more from exhaustion than from whiskey -- the bartender and card players were the only men in the establishment.
"Oh, not this again," Taylor mumbled. Then, looking around to the others he said, "Gonna have to break it up, gentlemen. Next time maybe luck'll be with you."
The men all made their own departure comments -- from the wife'll be waiting to gotta milk Bessy -- and headed in their various directions as Evan crossed to the table and waited for the others to step out of hearing range.
Before the boy could open his mouth, though, Taylor quickly said, "I don't need a deputy, Evan."
Crossroads was a relatively peaceful town. They'd only had a six killings in the five years Taylor had been here, and last weeks hanging had been the first in the history of the town. They didn't have a bank, per se -- although the arrival of the East Coast banker was rumored to be the first step toward changing that -- so they didn't get visits from bank robbers shooting up the town or setting off dynamite tied to the front of a safe.
But, things were going to change, too, and soon. There was reason that Barrowtown had been renamed; the traffic through Crossroads was increasing, and while most of those on foot, horseback, and wagon continued westward, some were deciding to stay as well. With more people came more trouble, and with more trouble came the need for more Law.
He's so god damn young, Taylor thought, eye balling Evan. Too young to be having a drunk cowboy pointing a .45 at him...
Those who knew him, though, understood that Taylor simply liked to eye ball the Saloon Girl, Sally. She was young and fresh and -- while she didn't dress or act any different than the other two Girls whose primary reason for being here was to part their thighs upstairs for coin -- she was pure as snow. It didn't seem possible, but her father, the Saloon Keeper, had assured Taylor that the only reason she was in such a den of inequity was because he needed a draw to get the local cowboys and transient settlers to come inside and put down their money. He hadn't wanted his little girl to ever step foot out of the kitchen. But, he learned quickly as she entered her teens, she couldn't cook anymore than a mule could breed, so he brought her out front, kept a close eye on her, spread the word to the locals that she was untouchable, and went back to work trying to make a living.
Sally was a draw, too, likely the best looking woman Taylor had ever met. He'd had his own nasty little thoughts about her just seconds after entering the saloon that first time. He hadn't had a chance to act on them, of course; shoot outs and bullets through the thigh have a way of getting in the way of lust and romance.
He knew better today than to even consider untoward interaction with the beauty. And yet, while he knew he would never lay hands upon Sally, he couldn't help but want to lay eyes upon her, as he was now, peeking past the two cowboys and one ranch hand he was playing cards with.
It didn't help that she so often flashed that smile his way, letting him know that she, too, likely had interest in him ... and, too, knew it wasn't going to happen. Her father had plans for Sally, a rich banker on his way west to San Francisco who was taking a detour to Crossroads to deliver a bag of gold that the man had apparently inherited ... and, of course, to take a gander at what he'd been told was the most beautiful virgin in all of the West.
Taylor laid out his cards, saying with a proud voice, "Six high straight."
One after another, the other players mucked their hands, each growling as was their nature. Taylor pulled the stack of chips his way; it was a massive three dollar pot, a fun game's winnings that was more about bragging rights than getting rich. Taylor looked up, about to rib the man who'd been banking on his three tens taking the post, when he saw another fresh, young face step into the saloon.
Evan Williams didn't have to search much to find Taylor; besides a drover passed out at the bar -- more from exhaustion than from whiskey -- the bartender and card players were the only men in the establishment.
"Oh, not this again," Taylor mumbled. Then, looking around to the others he said, "Gonna have to break it up, gentlemen. Next time maybe luck'll be with you."
The men all made their own departure comments -- from the wife'll be waiting to gotta milk Bessy -- and headed in their various directions as Evan crossed to the table and waited for the others to step out of hearing range.
Before the boy could open his mouth, though, Taylor quickly said, "I don't need a deputy, Evan."
Crossroads was a relatively peaceful town. They'd only had a six killings in the five years Taylor had been here, and last weeks hanging had been the first in the history of the town. They didn't have a bank, per se -- although the arrival of the East Coast banker was rumored to be the first step toward changing that -- so they didn't get visits from bank robbers shooting up the town or setting off dynamite tied to the front of a safe.
But, things were going to change, too, and soon. There was reason that Barrowtown had been renamed; the traffic through Crossroads was increasing, and while most of those on foot, horseback, and wagon continued westward, some were deciding to stay as well. With more people came more trouble, and with more trouble came the need for more Law.
He's so god damn young, Taylor thought, eye balling Evan. Too young to be having a drunk cowboy pointing a .45 at him...