depot: a saloon that also housed a restaurant, a general store, a bakery, a telegraph office, and what passed for a hotel, despite its having only two rooms.
Considering the late hour when they arrived, Casey sent Damian to the hotel to get them rooms for the night; she went to the train depot to report the robbery and the missing tracks. When she joined him in front of the hotel, it was with bad news.
“The next train isn’t due for about a week,” she told him without preamble, “which is about how long the fella at the depot reckons it will take to fix those missing tracks for the southbound train to get through.”
Damian sighed. “I don’t suppose there are any stages that run through here?”
“None, and it gets worse,” she warned him.“There isn’t a stable in this settlement, either, to buy you a horse from, and the nearest ranch that might have extra mounts for sale is a good day’s ride from here. But it’s not guaranteed to have any extra stock available, so could be a pure waste of time riding out there.”
Damian gave the buildings around them a sad glance. “So we’re stuck here for the next week?”
“Unless you want to continue doubled up on Old Sam. I might not mind, but he’s sure to start complaining pretty soon about the extra load.”
Damian almost smiled, but not quite. “I have bad news as well. There was only one room to be had in the hotel, so we’ll have to share it.”
Casey stiffened. Share a bedroom with him for an entire week? One night she might manage, but a whole week, not damn likely.
“We’ll find you a horse,” she said in a tone that brooked no opposition, and in fact, she was eyeing several horses across the street in front of the saloon as she said it.
He followed her gaze. “Stealing is out of the question,” he thought it prudent to mention.
Casey snorted, but said no more, already heading across the street. Damian followed the kid with not much enthusiasm. There was no bank in this little settlement either, or he would have no difficulty in meeting the price, whatever it was, to acquire a horse. He still might be able to meet it with the cash he had on hand, but the lack of mounts available in the area made it doubtful someone would be willing to part with his for any price.
Not that Damian wanted to continue on this journey on horseback. Riding doubled up behind Casey was one thing, since he wasn’t actually controlling Old Sam. Riding his own mount would be something entirely different, and he’d just as soon not add that to his learning experiences on this hellish trip.
The saloon was the first Western tavern Damian had entered, and if it was typical of its kind, it would be the last. It wasn’t large and certainly wasn’t crowded, but the smell of sour ale and whiskey, as well as smoke and vomit, permeated the air.
Sawdust constituted the floor. Three round tables, scarred and filthy, allowed for sitting. Only one was occupied. There was a separate room with a sign over the open door that read, “Not the best chow, but all you’ll find hereabouts.” Only two tables were inside, obviously, because they didn’t expect many customers.
Casey was standing at the long bar and looking right at home, as if he were in the habit of frequenting such places. Damian shook his head. There ought to be a law out here about serving children hard spirits.
The kid had already ordered a drink and had it in hand when he turned to survey the one occupied table. Three men were sitting there enjoying a game of cards; money near their elbows suggested they were gambling. They had eyed the kid, but quickly dismissed him. Damian they stared at a bit longer when he entered and moved over to join Casey.
Staring at the three men, Casey asked, “Who owns the pinto out front?”
A young man with a thick untrimmed beardanswered, “Reckon that would be me, ’less there’s more’n one.”
“You a gambling man?”
“When the mood strikes me,” he said and
Considering the late hour when they arrived, Casey sent Damian to the hotel to get them rooms for the night; she went to the train depot to report the robbery and the missing tracks. When she joined him in front of the hotel, it was with bad news.
“The next train isn’t due for about a week,” she told him without preamble, “which is about how long the fella at the depot reckons it will take to fix those missing tracks for the southbound train to get through.”
Damian sighed. “I don’t suppose there are any stages that run through here?”
“None, and it gets worse,” she warned him.“There isn’t a stable in this settlement, either, to buy you a horse from, and the nearest ranch that might have extra mounts for sale is a good day’s ride from here. But it’s not guaranteed to have any extra stock available, so could be a pure waste of time riding out there.”
Damian gave the buildings around them a sad glance. “So we’re stuck here for the next week?”
“Unless you want to continue doubled up on Old Sam. I might not mind, but he’s sure to start complaining pretty soon about the extra load.”
Damian almost smiled, but not quite. “I have bad news as well. There was only one room to be had in the hotel, so we’ll have to share it.”
Casey stiffened. Share a bedroom with him for an entire week? One night she might manage, but a whole week, not damn likely.
“We’ll find you a horse,” she said in a tone that brooked no opposition, and in fact, she was eyeing several horses across the street in front of the saloon as she said it.
He followed her gaze. “Stealing is out of the question,” he thought it prudent to mention.
Casey snorted, but said no more, already heading across the street. Damian followed the kid with not much enthusiasm. There was no bank in this little settlement either, or he would have no difficulty in meeting the price, whatever it was, to acquire a horse. He still might be able to meet it with the cash he had on hand, but the lack of mounts available in the area made it doubtful someone would be willing to part with his for any price.
Not that Damian wanted to continue on this journey on horseback. Riding doubled up behind Casey was one thing, since he wasn’t actually controlling Old Sam. Riding his own mount would be something entirely different, and he’d just as soon not add that to his learning experiences on this hellish trip.
The saloon was the first Western tavern Damian had entered, and if it was typical of its kind, it would be the last. It wasn’t large and certainly wasn’t crowded, but the smell of sour ale and whiskey, as well as smoke and vomit, permeated the air.
Sawdust constituted the floor. Three round tables, scarred and filthy, allowed for sitting. Only one was occupied. There was a separate room with a sign over the open door that read, “Not the best chow, but all you’ll find hereabouts.” Only two tables were inside, obviously, because they didn’t expect many customers.
Casey was standing at the long bar and looking right at home, as if he were in the habit of frequenting such places. Damian shook his head. There ought to be a law out here about serving children hard spirits.
The kid had already ordered a drink and had it in hand when he turned to survey the one occupied table. Three men were sitting there enjoying a game of cards; money near their elbows suggested they were gambling. They had eyed the kid, but quickly dismissed him. Damian they stared at a bit longer when he entered and moved over to join Casey.
Staring at the three men, Casey asked, “Who owns the pinto out front?”
A young man with a thick untrimmed beardanswered, “Reckon that would be me, ’less there’s more’n one.”
“You a gambling man?”
“When the mood strikes me,” he said and
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