Short Story: New Blood, Part 2 -…

Short Story: New Blood, Part 2 - 'luck’s Only Game'

A tall shadow passed by the opaque window of the saloon and the slim figure of Duke Lancaster entered. He looked nervously over his shoulder at the still swinging doors behind him, and stepped up to the long bar. Peering across the bar to the long face of the man cleaning glasses beyond its reflective surface asked, "…Hey, know of any work here abouts?"

The barkeeper answered without looking up. "Hear tell the Marshal was lookin’ for riders back along, but none of them fellas came back – well at least not in one piece that is… You might want to speak to that fella over there, he’s been talkin’ to folks in town," and he nodded his head across the saloon.

Across the drab saloon, a small man sat patiently at a table that he had made his own. Occasionally he glanced up, wiped his thick spectacles, and studied the face of the granddaughter clock that stood ticking in the corner.

Duke turned and cast a look across the threadbare room, and his eyes rested on the short round figure sitting in the far corner. The small man was thumbing through a minute black notebook that rested in his lap. The figure continued thumbing through the secret pages as he approached, and although Dukes eyes were as sharp as an eagle’s, he could not make out the secrets the book held for the small man.

"Hi," said Duke, and he moved across the saloon, and stood tall and erect adjacent to the small man at the round table. "…I’m Duke, Duke Lancaster, just arrived in town…" and he held out his open hand, "…an’ maybe you’re lookin’ for a fresh pair of hands?"

The small figure at the table bounced up and immediately pulled the round hat from his thin and retreating hairline, and peered up at Duke through his spectacles. "Why, yes good day sir, yes I am," offered the small round figure, with a high voice. "Yes, yes, I’m Dan, Dan Wakin, very pleased I’m sure. Please, please sit," continued the high voice that seemed to stress a question at every utterance. He grasped Duke’s hand lightly, pointed at an empty chair opposite, but maintained a steady and unrelenting smile at the dusty cowboy, "…Yes, please sit."

Duke pushed his aching body into the chair, and stretched out his long legs. "Thanks, kinda feels as if my back’s got to find herself again – someday. Sure was hell o’ a night - feels as if I met every rock personal, between here and Fort Henry… Had a little trouble getting’ away from somethin’ that wouldn’t keep," replied Duke coyly, and he nodded at the barkeeper who glanced in his direction.

The small round man quickly closed the notebook, slipped it back into his jacket pocket, and sat down. "Yes I am looking for assistance, but I have to say I don’t know if you can, I mean if you have the eh, skills that I’m looking for… not that I mean… You seem a fine fellow, I’m sure, and err, of good standing…"

"Well fella, I ain’t got all day, either you want help or not. What is it you have in mind?" asked Duke.

"Yes, yes, quite right, business first… Well the truth is I deal in horseflesh, you know, new mounts for the Army, and I’m looking for help in that quarter. That is to say someone who can head up a team, and track the wild horses, to return a full order, so to speak. …In my younger days," continued Dan Wakin mopping beads of perspiration from his brow with a kerchief, "I would have been only to delighted to engage with this wild country, and take to the hills myself. But alas, I fear the years have been a little unkind to me", and he patted his bulging waistcoat lightly, and smiled up into the wind-worn face of the cowboy.

Duke listened carefully to the small man’s voice, and could smell the sweating urgency and opportunity of his words. "Mustangs huh? That’s my kinda work, but that’s gonna be hard ridin’ and a long ways in the saddle, gonna need a fistfull of fellas, and plenty o’ tackle. Hell, could be a mighty spell o’ time just findin' the crown of a herd like that – you’re talkin’ hard ridin’, er Dan – that’s gonna be expensive," offered Duke, and he cast long thoughts back to his beaten-up saddle. "That’d take a whole set of kit, and mounts," he continued, "but hey mister, you’re lookin’ at the right fella, I guess."

The tone of voice of Dan Wakin’s voice dropped an octave, and he spoke clearly and with purpose without looking up from the bottle, that sat upon the table, "…When can you start?"

"Way now hold on fella, I just got into town," offered Duke, as luck’s only game came spinning his way. "…Reckon there’s err, one or two things to straighten out first..."

"Quite right, quite right, but don’t worry about supplies and extra men, I already have something set by. …I’ve just been waiting for the right man to head it up, and it could be that you’re he…" said Wakin, and he pushed a near full whisky bottle across the table towards the cowboy.

Duke eyed the glinting fluid within the bottle suspiciously, and lifted a hand, "No thanks… That’s killed more men than the good lord knows what to do with," said Duke. He creased his eyes and peered into the red round and fully fleshed face, "and could be I’ve seen enough o’ that way o’ sliding’ out o’ this world into the next – no thanks."

Dan Wakin stood quickly upright and the chair behind him squealed noisily across the wooden planking of the floor. "Why sir! I do believe you are the very man I’m looking for – yes sir!" Dan Wakin pushed his hand into an inside pocket of his crumpled jacket and withdrew a fan of dollars. He held out the money under Duke’s gaze and smiled up into the face of the cowboy, "Yes, I do believe you are the man – please take this as a gesture," he said, and pushed the money into Duke’s chest, "…take it."

Duke Lancaster closed his strong grip around the money that pushed into him, and stood up. From the back of his throat he heard his own words fly across the gloom of the saloon, "…Thanks…"

Dan Wakin offered his hand, "Good! We have a deal then?"

His hand was quickly taken.

The granddaughter clock standing alone within the grey confines of the saloon thumped out one dull note, and continued at length upon its relentless ticking.

"Why Mister Lancaster, I do believe it’s an hour passed the noon already", said Dan Wakin brusquely, "come now, come now - we’ve business to discuss, and I must confess there is a little urgency..."

"Sure Dan, I reckon you’ve said the truth - an’ no mistake!"

"Why, whatever do you mean Mister Lancaster, is it the onset of the winter that concerns you?" continued Dan Wakin, "I know it does me, and there’s not a lot of time to waste I believe?"

"Let’s drop the mister, eh? Duke’s fine - just Duke, an’ let’s just say I’m keen to get goin’!"

Dan Wakin took a small step backwards, removed his spectacles, and with a short wave of his hand two men slowly emerged from the shadows. Small oil lamps boosted the thin light of the saloon, and together they pushed out long shadows across the room as the men approached.

"Well now… Duke," continued the small man with a little reverence, "please let me introduce my colleagues, Mister Tolpark and Mister Winch…"

Duke stepped away from the table and instinctively laid his hand upon his empty belt, turned himself sideways, and slowly lifted his gaze to the eyes that peered at him through the gloom. The two faces that approached were lit with set grins and brown teeth, which betrayed over-confidence and the lust for cheap chewing tobacco. The first face belonged to a thickset cowboy, with a full black beard that was surprisingly well groomed and clipped.

The broad-faced man tapped the brim of his dark hat with the side of his hand, as he approached. "Howdy…" he said, "Sam Tolpark - friends call me Tunny, and this here is young Johnny-Lee Winch out of Utah… pleased to know ya." The voice was deep and mellow, and easily powered by the barrel chest under the thick checked shirt.

"…Howdy," responded Duke, and he nodded deliberately in their direction. He glanced quickly into the face of the second figure, and noted that the hands of the clean-shaven face rested easily upon a gun belt, that hung loosely from narrow hips. The hands of the younger Johnny-Lee fidgeted unceasingly along the heavy brown leather belt, and even in the dancing shadows, Duke could make out the wooden handle of a Colt tucked deep inside its holster. No hands were offered in his direction, and as the pair approached, they seemed to sway as one, with the younger man moving in time with the larger.

"Now then gentlemen – to business, please sit…" offered Wakin, waving at the lonely chairs, "we have to set some, well, er, ground rules if you like, as I can see you’re all keen to get to the work…"

Dan Wakin lowered himself into his chair. Duke sat opposite, but maintained his eye-line on the loose hands of Johnny-Lee. Sam Tolpark pushed his heavy trunk into the chair adjacent, while the younger man ignored the offer, and stood silently behind the larger man. Johnny-Lee tugged his hat lower, smiled, and maintained his gaze upon Duke.

"The truth is we have little time, the portents of winter are upon us," continued the small man, "and I have an urgent order to fulfil from the Army-Supplies office at Fort Henry. The movement of Sioux across the territory has created an urgent need for fresh horses, and the army is most insistent that the order is completed before the onset of winter. Gentlemen, speed is of importance here, and a bonus awaits you at the fulfilment of that order!" stressed Dan Wakin enthusiastically.

Duke pushed back his hat and looked into the round red face of the small man, "The Army usually prefer the long-backs from the East, not fresh-broken mustang ponies."

"Quite right Mister, er, Duke…" said Wakin forming a broad smile, "but my contact in Fort Henry informs me, there is an urgent need for support livery during these troubled times."

"Oh," considered Duke, and he dropped his eyes from the fidgeting hands on the gun-belt. "…How many head are we talkin’ about Dan?"

"The order is for forty, well-tempered and mountable, all to be with deep girth and clean-limbed, with absence of foot-rot," replied Dan Wakin, and he leant back in his chair and glanced into the face of Duke Lancaster. "That will be down to you, Duke…"

"Sure. …Reckon with losses and slow breakers, we’ll need over fifty head; that’s gonna be hard ridin’ and long days on the trail. The breakin’ could be a little tight, but with a good scout, and a couple more guys to make up the squad, reckon there’s a good chance - before the snows set in," said Duke, and he looked into the faces of the two men opposite, "…what do ya say fellas?"

"Sure… We’re in, but it looks like you’re ridin’ high on this," responded Tunny sharply, looking directly at Duke, and he pushed a hand to his chin and pulled at his beard. "But what about the bonus, where does that fit into the deal?"

"Well, I shall leave that in the capable hands of Mister Lancaster, er, Duke," responded Wakin lightly, and he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and scribbled quickly upon it and handed it to Duke. "…That’s the figure I had in mind."

Duke glanced at the paper in the lamplight, nodded, folded the paper and tucked it into a side pocket of his leather jacket. "…That’s more than fair."

"How much?" asked the barrel-chested man, and he eyed Duke suspiciously.

"You’ll know that when the time comes, and when I reckon you’re good for the ride," replied Duke coolly.

"And when might that be?" added the quiet voice of Johnny-Lee.

"You will know the answer to that, if your mount is taken away…"

"Oh, and why would that be…?"

Duke nodded at the Colt and gun-belt that held it, and he could feel the tide of his luck turning. "Could be packing all that iron will weigh you down out on the trail," said Duke slowly, and he looked straight into the blue eyes of Johnny-Lee, "be better to stow it in the chuck wagon with the long guns. This is gonna be hard ridin’ - we’re not gonna be needin’ passengers, that are just quick with a gun…"

~