Town Tamers (12 page)

B
yron listened to the
clack-clack-clack
of the car under him and the sound of the locomotive and wished he could get to sleep.

He didn’t know which bothered him more. That his pa couldn’t see that town taming was flat-out wrong, or his worry over the fact that sooner or later his father’s luck would run out.

When he was little, Byron had looked up to him. In his eyes, his father had been the finest man alive. Devoted to his mother, caring toward his sister and him. He couldn’t recall a single instance where his father raised his voice to them in anger or beat them, as some fathers did.

Back then Asa had been a marshal, and Byron had taken pride in that—in the star his father wore and how people respected him so.

Then his mother came down with consumption, and their lives changed forever. He’d seen how devastated his father was. How a lot of the joy went out of him. How he wasn’t the same man he’d once been.

Proof of that was when his father gave up his badge and took to town taming.

Byron saw the change, even if his pa didn’t. Where before Asa had served the law and protected folks by arresting the bad men who preyed on them, now he served no law but his own and blew the badmen to bits with that shotgun of his.

So what if towns hired him to do just that? It was nothing more nor less than sanctioned murder.

Byron had lent a hand, at first, for no other reason than that Asa was his father. But as time went on, as the killings mounted, he began to question the rightness of it.

Asa wasn’t blowing those bad men apart out of any sense of right and wrong. Everyone else assumed he did it for the money, but Byron knew better.

The town taming was an excuse for Asa to kill.

What Byron didn’t understand, and desperately wished to, was
why
. Why did his father feel the need to take so many lives? What satisfaction could spilling so much blood give him?

It didn’t give Byron any. He was sick of it. He’d stuck it out as long as he could, and now he wanted to quit.

He wished his sister would do the same, but she still adored Asa as he once had. She also, he had to admit, didn’t mind the killing one bit.

Byron would use their time in Ordville to try and persuade her to give up town taming, to live a normal life, like he was going to do.

He refused to do any killing in Ordville. He might as well start now to live as ordinary people did.

If nothing else, it should help him sleep better.

N
oona was restless.

She couldn’t get the constant quarreling between her pa and her brother out of her head.

She tried. Pressing her cheek into the soft pillow, she pulled the blanket higher and gave thanks that she was in a comfortable bunk and not sleeping on the hard ground.

She emptied her head and waited to drift off, and didn’t.

Consarn Byron anyhow
, she thought.

It was one thing for him to decide he was too good to kill anymore. That was his right. No one was forcing him.

But it was another for him to constantly badger their pa about it. To belittle him. To make him seem like some sort of monster for doing what so few had the grit to do.

Noona liked town taming. She had no problem with pulling the trigger on murderers and robbers and others of their unsavory ilk. It wasn’t any different from, say, ridding a house of rats. Let the rats run wild, and they’d destroy it. Let bad men run wild, and they’d destroy a town.

She was proud of what their pa did, and proud that he let her take part.

Lately Byron had been going on to her about how she should live a “normal” life. To her, normal meant a husband and kids and a house. It meant settling down. It meant doing dishes and laundry and cleaning and stitching.

She wasn’t ready for that yet.

Domesticity would be a lot less exciting than town taming.

She got to travel, to meet new people! Sure, she had to put lead into a few, but only the bad ones.

She’d go on doing it as long as she could—or as long as her pa did, and he showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

It wouldn’t be the same without Byron, though. Three was better than two when it came to watching one another’s backs.

Noona cared for him a lot. They weren’t like some brothers and sisters who were forever spatting. They got along fine. Or had, until he climbed on his high horse about the taming.

He’d once brought up the point that females didn’t do what she did. They didn’t tote guns, didn’t play-act in saloons, and they certainly didn’t blow holes in bad men.

But the only reason more women didn’t was their upbringing. They were taught that girls should behave in such-and-such a manner. Always be polite. Always be sweet. Learn to cook and learn to sew and learn to polish silverware and shoes so they could wait on their husbands mouth and foot.

None of that for her. She wasn’t a homebody. And she’d as soon gag as let a man rule her life.

Town taming let her avoid all that.

So far as she knew, she was the first and only female town tamer. For her own safety, her pa hadn’t let it be well known—which was a shame.

Noona felt herself drifting off. She thought of Ordville and what might be in store for them. It wouldn’t be anything they hadn’t seen before.

Life seldom surprised her anymore. She doubted Ordville would.

O
rdville, Colorado, got its start by accident.

One summer’s day a grizzled prospector with the handle of Lester Ordville was leading his contrary mule, Abigail, along an unnamed creek high in the Rockies. When she balked at going on, he sat down to rest and noticed a patch of color, not in the creek but in a bluff on the other side.

Taking his pick, Ordville chipped at the rock and soon exposed a vein—not of gold, which was disappointing, but of silver. Silver didn’t fetch as much, but enough of it could put a person in money for life.

Ordville filed a claim, brought in workers, and established the Stubborn Mule Mining Company. The ground under the bluff yielded over a ton of silver in the first year, and it wasn’t long before a town sprang up. They named it after him even though he wanted to name the town Abigail.

Ten years went by.

In that time, Lester had a mansion built and married a woman thirty years younger than he was. Her name was Darcy. They met one day when she bumped into him as he was coming out of his barber’s. She hinted that he should ask her out and he mustered the courage to do it. One thing led to another, with most of the things Darcy’s doing, and before Lester could quite collect his wits, he was wed.

Darcy spent his money so fast, it was a wonder Lester didn’t go broke. She wanted so much, and he was so eager to please, that he sold his mine to a conglomerate for what he thought was enough money to last him a lifetime. It lasted a year and a half. Darcy left him for greener and younger pastures and Lester ended up in a shack at the end of town. Just him and Abigail, who was too old and worn to go prospecting, but at least she didn’t spend him to death.

The conglomerate didn’t just take over the mine. They took over the town. The first thing they did was change the mine’s name to the Studevant Silver Lode.

Arthur Studevant was the head of the conglomerate and liked his name on everything he owned. His philosophy could be summed up in his favorite expression: “Why settle for a hundred thousand when you can make a million?”

Studevant brought in more men and expanded operations. He increased ore production by a whopping thirty-five percent. If that was all he did it would have been remarkable, but Studevant had other business interests besides mines.

The men who worked in his mines needed someplace to live. They needed clothes to wear. Needed food to eat. Most important of all, they needed a shot of whiskey at the end of a hard day’s labor and a congenial atmosphere in which to enjoy it.

That was why when Arthur Studevant took over a mine, he took over the town, too. He opened boardinghouses, bought up existing properties, and rented them out. He opened eateries. More important, as far as raking in profits went, were his saloons. In Ordville he opened five within half a year of taking over the mine and made it known that men who worked for him should frequent his establishments and not others. Small wonder that most of the existing saloons and two restaurants closed for lack of business.

Ordville became a company town.

And since Studevant controlled it, he got to run it the way he pleased. And the way he pleased was wide open.

Common sense said that saloons open twenty-four hours made more money than saloons only open for twelve. So Studevant kept his open twenty-four.

Common sense said that saloons open seven days a week made more money than saloons open six. So Studevant kept his open seven.

The town had three churches. The men of the cloth who ran them complained that Studevant was breaking the Sabbath, but he silenced two of them with generous donations. The third was Catholic, and in Studevant’s eyes didn’t count.

His next act should have provoked howls of righteous indignation from every upright soul in Ordville, yet only a few married women raised a fuss and were ignored.

Studevant opened the Rocky Mountain Social Club. It wasn’t a club in that you didn’t have to buy a membership to join, and it wasn’t social except that its patrons got to frolic with naked women for money.

Studevant brought in a professional madam from St. Louis to run the place, and rumor had it they were quite close.

All of this Asa Delaware learned before he even left Texas. All it took was a couple of visits to the Austin library and newspaper. Noona did the visiting since he wasn’t much at reading. She always handled that part.

Now, as the Ordville Express chugged up a steep grade to the pass that would take the train over the divide, Asa gazed out the window of the dining car at a spectacular vista of miles-high snowcapped peaks, and pondered.

He’d have to be mighty careful how he went about taming a place like Ordville.

It was one thing to tangle with an outlaw rancher like Weldon Knox and another to go up against someone as rich and powerful as Arthur Studevant.

It could be that Studevant had simply let things get out of hand with his wide-open policy and would welcome a chance to rein in the rough element. But Asa couldn’t count on that.

He’d learn more once he got there and talked to the mayor.

Byron would try to land a job as a bartender and Noona would do her dove act, and between the three of them, they’d know what was what in no time.

“Always get to know a town before taming it” was another of Asa’s rules.

He’d ask the mayor to keep his being there a secret until he was ready to commence the taming.

And with any luck, he wouldn’t have to kill as many men as he had in Ludlow.

That should make Byron happy.

F
rom a distance most towns look the same: a lot of squares and rectangles, a few buildings three or four stories high at the most, arranged in neat rows.

Not Ordville.

As the Express
rounded a wide curve that would bring the train to the station, Asa peered ahead and said to himself, “I never saw the like.”

The buildings reared with no rhyme or reason amid rolling foothills. Five and six stories, some of them, with one, by God, that had to be ten. Brick, for the most part, with a couple that looked to be stone from a quarry. The streets—what Asa could see of them—seldom ran straight for more than a couple of blocks. Mostly they twisted and turned like so many snakes. Everywhere, people bustled. It reminded him of nothing so much as an ant hill swarming with gaily dressed ants.

A stir of excitement filled the car as the train neared its destination. Some went to collect their bags so they would be ready to get off.

Asa was in no hurry. He’d slip out when the majority did and blend into the crowd. The mayor might have let it be known he was coming, and the opposition might have sent an assassin. The prospect was slim, but Asa never left anything to chance if he could help it.

He passed Byron in the aisle and Byron ignored him. Not out of disrespect. It was part of the plan. He and Byron and Noona were to pretend they didn’t know one another until the time came to confront the bad men.

The conductor was yelling that Ordville was the next stop, as if everyone didn’t know.

Asa was slightly taken aback when the conductor stopped on seeing him and said, “Let me guess. You must have heard.”

“Heard what?” Asa said, wondering if the conductor recognized him somehow.

“About Mr. Studevant and Indians.”

Before Asa could ask what he meant, the conductor walked on, hollering, “Ordville, next stop.”

The shotgun was in its leather case, his clothes and other effects in a carpetbag. With one in either hand, Asa turned to the window just as the train pulled in.

The platform was packed with folks waiting for new arrivals and others waiting to catch the train to wherever they were bound.

Asa kept his head low as he stepped down and moved over by a pillar. Only then did he realize the station was built in some sort of Greek style with arches and columns and whatnot.

Ordville didn’t do things by half.

Asa glimpsed Noona threading through the throng. She caught sight of him and broke his rule by smiling. It was unlikely anyone noticed, but it annoyed him that she didn’t listen.

Inside, the station was a madhouse. People yelling and scurrying and an Express company employee bellowing that the train had arrived.

The street wasn’t much better. The new arrivals were dispersing to waiting carriages and hansoms. Men on horseback clomped to and fro while people on foot thronged the boardwalks.

Asa took his time. Part of reading a town, like reading a person, was to note every little thing. The small things were important. For instance, one of the first things he noticed was how well dressed everyone was. Nary a farmer or a cowboy or a town drunk in sight. Loggers, though, and lots and lots of mine workers. Plus the tony townsfolk. Derbies and bowlers were common. So were long coats and high boots.

In his derby and his slicker, Asa fit right in.

He needed to find a boardinghouse, but first he would check in with the mayor.

The municipal building, like the train station, boasted Greek architecture. Asa hadn’t seen such fancy buildings since the trip he took to Washington, D.C.

The mayor’s office was on the top floor. Brass fittings sparkled, and the hardwood floor was clean enough to eat off of.

The waiting room was full. Asa stepped to the secretary’s desk and had to clear his throat before she looked up from a ledger she was scribbling in.

“Yes?” she said with an air of boredom.

“Asa Delaware to see the mayor.”

She was pretty, not much over twenty, with her hair worn in a new fashion and a dress that in some small towns would be considered scandalous. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But I believe he’s expecting me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ll have to wait for the first available opening.”

“Are you sure he won’t see me right away?”

“Appointments always take precedence unless it’s an emergency.”

“No,” Asa admitted. “It’s not that.”

“Well, then. Take a seat and I’ll call your name when the time comes.”

Asa supposed he shouldn’t be bothered about it but he was. He’d come a long way. Then again, the mayor didn’t know when he was arriving. “Would you at least let him know I’m here, in case he wants to see me sooner?”

“I will.”

Asa claimed an empty space on a bench along a wall, set down the carpetbag, and placed the shotgun across his lap. He figured it wouldn’t be long. But a half hour went by and then an hour. The secretary called out names and people went in. Most weren’t in there long.

The mayor was a busy man.

Asa like to pride himself on his patience, but after two hours his was wearing thin, and after three he’d had enough. He stood, shouldered the shotgun, and was bending to pick up the carpetbag when his name was called.

A bronze nameplate on the door read T
OM
O
LIVER
. Like everything else in Ordville, the office oozed money.

From the mahogany desk to the paneling to the glass bookcase and globe lamps, it was an office fit for a governor or a president.

Tom Oliver smiled, rose, and offered his hand. In his forties, he was balding and well-fed and, of course, well-clothed. “Mr. Delaware, is it?”

Asa set the shotgun on an empty chair and his carpetbag on the floor, and shook. “I came as quick as I could.”

“That’s nice.” Oliver indicated another chair. “Have a seat, why don’t you.”

Asa sank down and sat back. He’d no sooner made himself comfortable than he received a shock.

“Now then,” Mayor Oliver said, “my secretary informs me that your business is urgent. So let’s get right to it.” He paused. “Who are you? And why have you come to see me?”