Iron Ties Page 25

  There was no resisting the magic that flowed between the two, the passion that lifted C.A.’s speech from memorized words to an outpouring of the heart.

  Hardly a rustle was heard from the audience from beginning to end. Maude turned to the audience for her final words as Queen Katharine: “God, the best maker of all marriages,/Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! As man and wife, being two, are one in love,/ So be there ’twixt your kingdoms such a spousal/That never may ill office or fell jealousy—”

  Jealousy.

  “Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,/Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,/To make divorce of their incorporate league—”

  Divorce.

  “That English may as French, French Englishman,/Receive each other. God speak this Amen!”

  The audience broke into wild applause.

  “Damn, they’re good,” said Abe, applauding with the rest. “They oughta do somethin’ like that for Grant.”

  Inez grunted.

  Abe’s gaze shifted from the Fairplays to her. “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “Later,” she said and began clapping as well.

  There was a general stir throughout the audience as C.A. and Maude took their bows. Inez looked about, counting off those she knew by name or by sight. Everyone from her Saturday night poker game was there. Chet Donnelly was also present, clapping and hollering louder than the rest, keeping company with a group of like men. With hair bleached white by the sun, faces burned leather-brown, and clothes that needed a good dunk in the river, they all looked as if they’d just hauled in from the Ten Mile District. They made a studied contrast sitting shoulder to shoulder with an assembly of company miners, all in their sober Sunday best, faces pale from spending daylight hours underground.

  Clustered just inside the Harrison Avenue door, Preston, Reuben, and the professor stood with men who, she guessed, were part of the rail construction crew. Standing a bit separate from them, the railroad section boss, Delaney, leaned against the wall by the door, looking drunk and sour. Michael O’Malley blocked the door, making sure that those who didn’t pay the cover charge waited outside until the show was over. She caught her breath, sighting Weston Croy, partially blocked by Michael’s shoulder, craning his neck to see inside.

  Standing just inside the State Street door, similarly guarded by Sol with his baseball bat near at hand, she spotted Hollis and—

  “Jack!” she said in surprise.

  One-Eyed Jack had his hat in his hands and was staring about in puzzlement, as if he’d wandered in for a drink and found himself in the opera house instead. Jack’s gaze traveled over the audience to the men by the Harrison Avenue door. He suddenly stiffened and stepped back, trodding on Sol’s toes.

  C.A. was saying, “Now, Mrs. Fairplay will entertain suggestions for songs from the audience, performed by herself and this fine young man at the piano.”

  Doc cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “A song to celebrate the impending visit of General Ulysses S. Grant, eighteenth president of these great United States, to this wonderful city of Leadville on July twentieth.”

  Maude frowned a little and looked a question at C.A. He nodded, so she conferred with Taps. Taps sounded a chord and they swung into “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”

  She finished and someone else yelled, “How about another song?”

  “A good ol’ Union tramping song!” yelled another. There was a general murmur of approbation under which Inez thought she detected a rumble of disapproval. Maude bent her head to Taps to deliberate.

  Inez felt Abe shift next to her, uneasy.

  Maude turned to the audience. Taps did a toe-tapping intro and Maude began to sing: “Yes, we’ll rally round the flag, boys,/We’ll rally once again,/Sounding out the battle cry of Freedom.”

  Most of the crowd joined in.

  Inez and Abe locked eyes.

  “We need to call a halt to this,” she said in a low voice.

  He nodded.

  The song ended to thunderous applause and cheering.

  Before Inez could announce that the act was over and invite those outside to enter, Delaney, who was standing by the stairs, took two quick steps to the piano.

  His gun pointed at the piano player’s head.

  “You know the Southron version, piano man?” he inquired with a drunken slur.

  Taps shook his head, hands frozen on the keyboard.

  Delaney set the muzzle against his temple. “It’s easy. Just play it again. Mrs. Fairplay, d’you know the words?” Maude’s hands were up at her throat. Looking like she was ready to faint, she shook her head.

  “Then I’ll sing it! Play, you bastard.”

  Taps began playing haltingly. Delaney sang, “Our flag is proudly floating/On the land and on the main,/Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!”

  A dangerous growl mounted throughout the room. Much to Inez’s horror, other voices scattered around the room began to chime in, gaining strength at the chorus: “Our Dixie forever!/She’s never at a loss!/Down with the eagle/And up with the cross!”

  She saw Reuben singing along with defiant enthusiasm. From either side, Preston and the professor clamped a hand on his shoulders, shutting him down. Other men around the room glared at the singers.

  “Jesus Christ! Abe, get the gun!” Inez hissed. She began to sidle to the end of the bar closest to the piano.

  Someone spat at the man singing next to him. A stir like a wave rolled through the room.

  Delaney broke off. “No one move!” he roared. “I’ll splatter this fella’s brains all over the floor, and that’ll be an end to the music!”

  Abe froze. One hand below the counter.

  Sol slowly hid the bat behind his back.

  Yanking his arms from Preston and the professor’s grips, Reuben shouted, “Sing ‘Bright Missouri, Land of the West’!”

  Inez heard Abe curse below his breath.

  The professor hissed into Reuben’s ear.

  Reuben glared at him.

  Delaney smiled lopsidedly, sweat streaming down his face. “Good call, boy.” He then addressed Taps. “You know the tune?”

  There was a slight pause. Inez held her breath.

  The muzzle pressed against the piano player’s head moved with his nod.

  Delaney’s grip on the revolver stayed tight. “Play.”

  Inez glimpsed Weston, pushing against Michael O’Malley’s outstretched arm. Michael seemed panicked, but determined to keep him out. Weston stared at Delaney with manic loathing etched deep into his face.

  Attention divided between the piano player’s fumbling finger work and the audience, Delaney commenced singing:

  “They forced you to join in their unholy fight,/With fire and with sword, with power and with might./’Gainst father and brother, and loved ones so near,/’Gainst women, and children, and all you hold dear;/They’ve o’er run your soil, insulted your press,/They’ve murdered your citizens—shown no redress—/So swear by your honor your chains shall be riven,/And add your bright star to our flag of eleven!”

  On the last beat of “eleven,” he slammed the keyboard cover down on the piano player’s hands.

  Taps and Maude screamed.

  The room exploded.

  Men lunged at each other. Benches overturned. Someone yelled—more in anger, Inez judged, than pain.

  Yanking her pocket pistol out, Inez tried to push her way to the piano. She saw Preston grab Delaney by the neck, rip the gun from his grip, and throw him to the ground.

  Weston broke past Michael, hurled toward Preston’s back, pulled a gun from his tattered coat pocket—

  “No!” she shouted.

  Preston whirled around and caught Weston’s wrist. Using Delaney’s gun, he pistol-whipped Weston across the face.

  Weston howled and dropped his gun. He staggered back, nose erupting with blood, and shouted, “The Rebs are attacking! Setting fire to the tow
n! Blow the bridge, don’t let them cross!” Weaponless, he threw himself past the professor and out the door into the street.

  Appalled, Inez looked around. Sol was now in the thick of the crowd, swinging his bat, trying to break up the fray. Abe had the shotgun and was standing where she knew the cashbox resided under the bar. He looked grim, undecided. She understood his hesitation. Shoot? And maybe encourage others to do the same? Wade out into the mess and leave their considerable cash undefended and chance having someone tear the gun from his hands?

  A voice, louder than the rest, drew her attention: C.A. straddled Delaney, who was supine and struggling on the floor. C.A. had him by the ears and was pounding Delaney’s face into the boards of the makeshift stage, roaring: “Frothy flap-mouthed foot-licker! Jarring unwash’d horn-beast! Surly ill-nurtured measle! You bottle-ale rascal, you filthy bung, puny sheep-biting lout!”

  Maude crouched by Taps, who was doubled over on the piano stool.

  The professor stood motionless, an arm’s length from Inez, next to the Harrison Avenue entrance. Arms crossed, he watched the battle rage with something akin to disgust on his face. His immobile posture enraged her more than all the fighting around her.

  “Do something!” she screamed at him.

  He turned his head slowly toward her. “It’s not my war,” he said coldly, without a trace of a heavy burr to his words.

  She stared at him, feeling like she was surely going crazy. “For God’s sake! I’m not asking you to fight! Just…go! Find a policeman! The marshal! The law! Bring them here!”

  He disappeared out the door.

  She turned back to the room. Everywhere, moveable furniture was being used as weaponry. Fists, feet, elbows, and teeth were being applied randomly to whoever came within reach, and not a few pistols and knives were being brandished. It was only a matter of time before someone decided to pull a trigger or drive in a blade.

  A sudden commotion at the other end of the room drew her attention. Someone had hold of one end of the red-white-and-blue bunting draped over the buffalo’s horns and was tugging—hard.

  Seeing there was no way she could push her way across the chaotic room in time to stop the buffalo head’s descent, Inez dashed out the saloon’s Harrison Avenue door. Moving as fast as her long skirts allowed, she raced around the corner of the building to the State Street entrance. She arrived just in time to see the buffalo head come crashing down, flattening three unfortunate patrons beneath it and breaking off its heavy wood mount.

  As one of the flattened heaved the enormous head off his legs, someone yelled “Gold!”—a pronouncement followed by the sound Inez had been dreading to hear: the sharp report of a revolver.

  The answering heavy crash of the shotgun blast announced that Abe had made up his mind to pull the trigger.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Whether it was the mention of the magic metal or the sound of serious firepower, nearly everyone paused. Taking hold of the delicate balance, Inez stepped forward and shouted, “That’s enough!”

  Sol hit a final home run into the shoulder of a man attempting to eye-gouge another. Abe held the shotgun on the company at large.

  At the center of the disordered room, Doc stared, shock plain on his face, at the bullet-sized hole in the planks at his feet, and then looked up at Reuben. Preston Holt had a struggling Reuben by the collar. There was a short tussle, and a gun clattered to the floor, forced from Reuben’s hand.

  In the suddenly silent room, Inez heard Preston say, “Control yourself, son.”

  Reuben screamed, “I ain’t your son!” and tore away from Preston.

  Preston grabbed him by the front of the shirt and dragged him over to Inez. Breathing heavily, Preston gave Reuben a rough shake, saying to Inez, “This boy’ll make restitution on a share of the damage and face the music for tryin’ to shoot the doctor, there. McMurtrie’ll hear of Delaney and the rest.”

  Reuben shouted, “I ain’t no boy!” and tried to pull away.

  She hardly heard them, distracted as she was by two men, on their hands and knees, scrabbling about the buffalo head, grabbing gold coins and stuffing them into their pockets. Two quick steps and she was by the nearest, who groped inside the open neck of the buffalo. The muzzle of her Remington Smoot was digging into his neck before he had time to twist his head around to see who had him by the collar.

  “That,” she said, twisting his collar, “is not yours. Put it down.”

  He dropped the money to the floor.

  “Empty your pockets.”

  More gold coins followed.

  She raised her voice. “None of you leaves until the money goes to its rightful owner. Who happens to be—”

  “Mr. Jackson,” bellowed Chet, his scuffed boots inches away from Inez.

  She looked up. At that unusual angle, Chet’s enormous belly swelled overhead, the scraggly ends of his beard straying over the bulge. He stepped back, and Inez saw his furious ruddy face and popping blue eyes far above. He also had his gun drawn and pointed at the other man, still on his knees in a prayerful stance.

  “’Tarnation, that’s why that damn buffalo was so heavy. Flapjacks, my long deceased partner, alwus did say it was worth a fortune. He died up mountain three years ago. Well, ain’t no nevermind now.” He added, loud enough for all to hear, “I gave that there fine trophy to Mr. and Mrs. Jackson as a weddin’ present. So, boys,” his voice dropped to a dangerous snarl, “this here claim ’taint yours for the staking, if you get my drift.”

  They did.

  Men picked themselves up off the floor, some attending to bloody noses and other superficial injuries. Most began to slip out the doors.

  Doc approached Inez, his face sagging in dismay. “I’d no idea that my suggestions would lead to such a volatile situation.”

  She took his hand and rose, dusting off smudges on her skirt where she’d knelt by the buffalo. “Well, Doc, neither did we. Would you help us with the wounded? Especially Taps. You saw what happened to his hands. I hope they aren’t broken. I expect the law or some version of it to be here shortly.”

  No sooner spoken than McMurtrie and Snow came striding into the saloon, the professor shadowing them. Inez stared at Snow. What’s he doing here? I thought he was out of town.

  McMurtrie, who still had a starched linen napkin tucked into his collar, looked around, removed his napkin and hat, and shook his head. Inez made her way through the rubble.

  Without preamble, Inez pointed to Delaney, who was sitting up on the stage, a bloody handkerchief held to his battered face. “I understand, Mr. McMurtrie, this…thug, who, by the way, started all the trouble, is a relative of yours? In addition to being an employee of the Denver and Rio Grande.”

  McMurtrie stared at Delaney, who in turn stared at Inez with pure hate. Sol, guarding him, the bat hovering menacingly, took a step closer.

  McMurtrie removed the toothpick he was chewing and said, “Can’t do anything about the blood tie, but I can guarantee that, if it’s up to me, he’s not going to work for the railway much longer.”

  Snow shoved his way between them. “You cannot lay blame on the Rio Grande for this,” he said loudly and with great fervor, as if orating before a jury. “His actions, and those of any of the other men who participated in the brawl, are not the responsibility of the company.”

  Inez realized she still gripped her pistol and quickly pocketed it, lest she be tempted to use it on Snow.

  “Of course I’m not blaming the railroad,” she snapped. “However, there are certain employees,” her gaze targeted Delaney and Reuben, still in Preston’s grip, “who will no longer be welcome here.”

  She turned to Doc, who stood at her shoulder. “Are you going to press charges against Reuben? He tried to kill you!”

  Reuben flushed beneath the blood smeared across his face and shouted, “He’s bringin’ Grant to town! The man who butchered those just tryin’ to stay free! Who destroyed the South! Who—”<
br />
  Preston shook him again, a controlled fury in the motion. “Boy. Stop now. You’re in enough trouble.”

  “I ain’t no boy! Quit callin’ me that! I’m as old as you were when you went to fight—” His words cut off as Preston twisted Reuben’s shirt in his fist.

  Doc shook his head vehemently, still pale. “No, no. No charges. He missed, after all. He’s still young. I don’t see the good that would come of pressing charges.” He looked at Preston. “Take him home and keep a better watch over his actions.”

  Inez heard a strangled gasp. The professor, standing behind McMurtrie, stared at Doc as though he’d seen a phantom. He ripped his gaze from Doc to catch Inez staring at him. Fear and disbelief scraped his face bare, stripped years from him, so it seemed that a frightened boy stared back at her. He quickly broke eye contact and began searching his pockets.

  Doc broke from the group. “I’d best see to the piano player.”

  McMurtrie nodded and, without taking his eyes from Delaney, said, “The law on its way, Professor?”

  “What?” The professor had pulled out a handkerchief.

  “The law.”

  “Oh, aye, I believe so, sir.” The cadence of Caledonia was back in his voice. He commenced dabbing the sweat from his forehead. “Pardon me. I’m…not used t’ such violence. In the courtroom and boardroom, the violence is more of a…verbal nature. As you gentlemen know.”

  Inez narrowed her eyes at him. He avoided her suspicious gaze.

  “Right. When the law arrives, have them take this sorry piece of—” McMurtrie glanced at Inez and amended, “Delaney here and lock him up. I’ll deal with him in the morning.”

  Ignoring Preston’s somber gaze, Inez left the group and hurried to Taps.

  Taps cradled his hands to his chest, rocking back and forth. Doc twisted the cap back onto a small flask, which he slipped inside his waistcoat. “The brandy will help,” he said in a low and soothing rumble. “Once you’re home, we’ll get you something stronger for the pain.”

  “Are his hands broken?” Inez asked.

  Doc’s face looked pouched and tired. “The left most likely is, but in any case, they’re both badly injured. He’ll need help getting home.” Doc glanced at the empty pant leg, and the crutch leaning against the piano.