Adventures of Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles (Cash Laramie & Gideon Miles Series) by Edward A. Grainger
Authors: Edward A. Grainger
Tags: General
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anyway.
"And how is it that you know my name?"
"Folks ain't always who they say they is," the driver said. He pulled a newspaper out from under his offside leg and handed it down to Woodruff. The
Cheyenne Gazette's
headline touted, "Senator Woodruff's Plan for Indian Replacement." Beneath the headline, surrounded by type, was an etching of Senator Woodruff himself, the man who now held the newspaper.
The second man out of the coach put on a top hat as he exited, and he sported a fine hickory cane. He stabbed a finger at the caricature. "No mistake, sir. That's definitely you." Half a smile played on the thin lips of his thin face. "Shouldn't we get inside?" He, too, held up a dollar bill to Scarecrow Jim. "For my baggage, driver."
The driver plucked the bill from the man's hand and started undoing the ropes that held the baggage in place.
"Inside, yes. Well ..." Senator Woodruff glanced up and down Main, which was quiet on that Wednesday night. "I suppose you're right, Mr. Smith."
"Your bags, Senator Woodruff." Scarecrow Jim handed the two heavy leather bags down. Woodruff accepted them one at a time and wrestled them to the boardwalk.
Smith untied his Morgan mare from the rear of the coach, then came back in time to accept his own small bag. The other passengers stayed inside.
Scarecrow Jim cracked his whip above the ears of the lead team and sawed the horse reins, turning the coach around in a broad circle that barely fit the confines of Main Street. A hundred yards down the street, he whipped the teams around again to face the way they'd originally entered town. He whoaed them in front of the H&H station so the other passengers could get out.
Senator Woodruff, obviously not used to carrying his own bags, struggled down the boardwalk toward the front door of the boarding house. Smith led the bay Morgan to the hitching rail, where he looped the reins. The Morgan immediately went hip-shot as if he'd spent the best years of his life hitched up.
The door opened before Smith and Woodruff reached it. "Good day, senator. I am Anne Pritchard." The woman stood almost as tall as the senator, but had less than half his girth. Her face said she was in her forties, but her hands said she'd lived a hard life. She glanced at Smith, who stood behind Senator Woodruff.
"Pardon me," Woodruff said as he swept a hand toward Smith. "This is J.D. Smith. He did me a favor this evening and I hoped you might provide him with a room."
Anne Pritchard pursed her mouth. "Well, all the rooms are taken, but I can fix up a couch in the den if that is acceptable. Such temporary accommodations are less than room rates, of course."
Smith tipped his tall top hat. "A couch would be more than ample, madam."
"There's a livery about three blocks back down Main."
"Thank you, Mrs. Pritchard, but I'd prefer that Redemption stay close at hand."
"He defecates in front of my boarding house and you'll clean it up, Mr. Smith." The owner of the boarding house didn't seem happy at the idea of Redemption standing in front of her establishment all night.
"Yes, ma'am," Smith said. "May I point out that Redemption is a she, if you please?"
She gave Smith a curt nod. "Come along, senator. Mr. Smith can come after he's tended to his animal friend."
Smith chuckled. He unsaddled the Morgan mare and threw the horse tack over the hitching rail. From the bulging saddlebags, he extracted a gunnysack that had been made into a nosebag. It contained a good quart of oats, and he fitted the bag over Lucinda's ears so she could eat while he looked into his accommodations.
Mrs. Pritchard left Smith in the den and showed Senator Woodruff to his room on the second floor. It proved somewhat larger than the normal hotel room, and it contained a large four-poster, an ornate commode with a china washbasin and water pitcher, two cedar dressers, and luxurious floor-length curtains that set off the carpeted floor.
"Thank you for allowing Mr. Smith the use of the den for the night,
"And how is it that you know my name?"
"Folks ain't always who they say they is," the driver said. He pulled a newspaper out from under his offside leg and handed it down to Woodruff. The
Cheyenne Gazette's
headline touted, "Senator Woodruff's Plan for Indian Replacement." Beneath the headline, surrounded by type, was an etching of Senator Woodruff himself, the man who now held the newspaper.
The second man out of the coach put on a top hat as he exited, and he sported a fine hickory cane. He stabbed a finger at the caricature. "No mistake, sir. That's definitely you." Half a smile played on the thin lips of his thin face. "Shouldn't we get inside?" He, too, held up a dollar bill to Scarecrow Jim. "For my baggage, driver."
The driver plucked the bill from the man's hand and started undoing the ropes that held the baggage in place.
"Inside, yes. Well ..." Senator Woodruff glanced up and down Main, which was quiet on that Wednesday night. "I suppose you're right, Mr. Smith."
"Your bags, Senator Woodruff." Scarecrow Jim handed the two heavy leather bags down. Woodruff accepted them one at a time and wrestled them to the boardwalk.
Smith untied his Morgan mare from the rear of the coach, then came back in time to accept his own small bag. The other passengers stayed inside.
Scarecrow Jim cracked his whip above the ears of the lead team and sawed the horse reins, turning the coach around in a broad circle that barely fit the confines of Main Street. A hundred yards down the street, he whipped the teams around again to face the way they'd originally entered town. He whoaed them in front of the H&H station so the other passengers could get out.
Senator Woodruff, obviously not used to carrying his own bags, struggled down the boardwalk toward the front door of the boarding house. Smith led the bay Morgan to the hitching rail, where he looped the reins. The Morgan immediately went hip-shot as if he'd spent the best years of his life hitched up.
The door opened before Smith and Woodruff reached it. "Good day, senator. I am Anne Pritchard." The woman stood almost as tall as the senator, but had less than half his girth. Her face said she was in her forties, but her hands said she'd lived a hard life. She glanced at Smith, who stood behind Senator Woodruff.
"Pardon me," Woodruff said as he swept a hand toward Smith. "This is J.D. Smith. He did me a favor this evening and I hoped you might provide him with a room."
Anne Pritchard pursed her mouth. "Well, all the rooms are taken, but I can fix up a couch in the den if that is acceptable. Such temporary accommodations are less than room rates, of course."
Smith tipped his tall top hat. "A couch would be more than ample, madam."
"There's a livery about three blocks back down Main."
"Thank you, Mrs. Pritchard, but I'd prefer that Redemption stay close at hand."
"He defecates in front of my boarding house and you'll clean it up, Mr. Smith." The owner of the boarding house didn't seem happy at the idea of Redemption standing in front of her establishment all night.
"Yes, ma'am," Smith said. "May I point out that Redemption is a she, if you please?"
She gave Smith a curt nod. "Come along, senator. Mr. Smith can come after he's tended to his animal friend."
Smith chuckled. He unsaddled the Morgan mare and threw the horse tack over the hitching rail. From the bulging saddlebags, he extracted a gunnysack that had been made into a nosebag. It contained a good quart of oats, and he fitted the bag over Lucinda's ears so she could eat while he looked into his accommodations.
Mrs. Pritchard left Smith in the den and showed Senator Woodruff to his room on the second floor. It proved somewhat larger than the normal hotel room, and it contained a large four-poster, an ornate commode with a china washbasin and water pitcher, two cedar dressers, and luxurious floor-length curtains that set off the carpeted floor.
"Thank you for allowing Mr. Smith the use of the den for the night,
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