p.m. till two a.m. You keep fifty cents for yourself, give fifty cents to the town, and you won’t be taxed anymore.”
Brother Winchester took longer to cut from his group because he was surrounded by the ladies of the church. Ian finally sent Liza in, who had broken through her circle to compliment Ian on his suit and bronc-busting ability.
“They tell me you pinwheeled and near broke that horse’s back.”
Brother Winchester was solemn as they walked away from the crowd, and he listened as Ian explained his plan. He scuffed his toe against the grass and said, “Heck, Brother Ian, gambling’s against my principles, as a preacher. So’s whiskey, but I’d be run out of town if I tried to stop drinking.”
“I can’t say I don’t disagree with you, Brother Winchester, but draw poker ain’t gambling. It’s a game of skill. You can keep the gambling laws and allow draw poker. You’ve got to look at this matter through the eyes of the mayor, not the preacher. I’ve been sounding out the folks in Shoshone Flats, and there’s talk of electing a gambling mayor next June. Half of that road fund would go for your administration, and you deserve a salary for your labors. As long as the people are bound to have poker anyway, mayor, let it be done under a Christian administration, I say.”
“You bring up some powerful arguments, Brother Ian. Let me walk alone to under yonder tree and ask for guidance in this matter.”
“While you’re checking, Reverend, ask about getting Abe Bernbaum appointed justice of the peace.”
“That’s my province, Brother Ian. Does Abe know the law?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then he’s your J.P.”
Brother Winchester must have had a direct line to heaven, Ian felt, for he was gone only slightly more than a minute. When he returned, his long face was split by a smile.
“It’s all set, Deputy McCloud. Bain can have draw poker, long as it’s two-card draw. Now all we need’s the road gang. I got confidence you’ll get one, but don’t go around arresting people free-handed. We got to get them and let them know why they’re got. It’s got to be legal because they’ll be voting, at least by next June.”
Together they walked back to the picnic table, the mayor putting a fatherly arm over Ian’s shoulder. “I’ve got my eye on you, deputy. You keep up the good work and you’re going to be made high sheriff of my town. But don’t arrest any Mormons. They don’t vote in our elections, and I don’t want them to start. So leave them good people alone lest it’s a matter of life and death.”
Ian appreciated the compliment even though he knew his work was just beginning and the toughest job, rounding up a work gang, lay ahead. Looking around him at the scrubbed faces of the young Gentiles, he couldn’t see one that looked like a lawbreaker. Yet, wearing a black suit with a tin star, he didn’t look like a lawbreaker either.
For a while Ian enjoyed the plaudits of the men who gathered around to compliment him on his horsemanship and to admire, at a safe distance, Midnight. He enjoyed, too, the comments of the ladies on his new suit as he tasted the delicacies spread out on the tables, until Liza broke away from her admirers long enough to whisper, “I’ve got something special for you in the back of my buggy.”
He figured she meant a hamper of chicken, but before he could force a thanks to his lips, she was whisked away. Likely females were scarce in the Wyoming Territory. He hadn’t managed a word with Gabriella and not more than a sentence with Liza. No wonder there was bad blood between the many-wived Mormons and the women-scarce Gentiles.
Ian was grateful for his relative solitude. He had problems to consider. The take from the poker tables would give him a highway fund and he could get a sealed bid from the general store to furnish him with wheelbarrows, graders, and shovels, but the road gang was going to be a problem. From the looks of this crowd, there were
Brother Winchester took longer to cut from his group because he was surrounded by the ladies of the church. Ian finally sent Liza in, who had broken through her circle to compliment Ian on his suit and bronc-busting ability.
“They tell me you pinwheeled and near broke that horse’s back.”
Brother Winchester was solemn as they walked away from the crowd, and he listened as Ian explained his plan. He scuffed his toe against the grass and said, “Heck, Brother Ian, gambling’s against my principles, as a preacher. So’s whiskey, but I’d be run out of town if I tried to stop drinking.”
“I can’t say I don’t disagree with you, Brother Winchester, but draw poker ain’t gambling. It’s a game of skill. You can keep the gambling laws and allow draw poker. You’ve got to look at this matter through the eyes of the mayor, not the preacher. I’ve been sounding out the folks in Shoshone Flats, and there’s talk of electing a gambling mayor next June. Half of that road fund would go for your administration, and you deserve a salary for your labors. As long as the people are bound to have poker anyway, mayor, let it be done under a Christian administration, I say.”
“You bring up some powerful arguments, Brother Ian. Let me walk alone to under yonder tree and ask for guidance in this matter.”
“While you’re checking, Reverend, ask about getting Abe Bernbaum appointed justice of the peace.”
“That’s my province, Brother Ian. Does Abe know the law?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then he’s your J.P.”
Brother Winchester must have had a direct line to heaven, Ian felt, for he was gone only slightly more than a minute. When he returned, his long face was split by a smile.
“It’s all set, Deputy McCloud. Bain can have draw poker, long as it’s two-card draw. Now all we need’s the road gang. I got confidence you’ll get one, but don’t go around arresting people free-handed. We got to get them and let them know why they’re got. It’s got to be legal because they’ll be voting, at least by next June.”
Together they walked back to the picnic table, the mayor putting a fatherly arm over Ian’s shoulder. “I’ve got my eye on you, deputy. You keep up the good work and you’re going to be made high sheriff of my town. But don’t arrest any Mormons. They don’t vote in our elections, and I don’t want them to start. So leave them good people alone lest it’s a matter of life and death.”
Ian appreciated the compliment even though he knew his work was just beginning and the toughest job, rounding up a work gang, lay ahead. Looking around him at the scrubbed faces of the young Gentiles, he couldn’t see one that looked like a lawbreaker. Yet, wearing a black suit with a tin star, he didn’t look like a lawbreaker either.
For a while Ian enjoyed the plaudits of the men who gathered around to compliment him on his horsemanship and to admire, at a safe distance, Midnight. He enjoyed, too, the comments of the ladies on his new suit as he tasted the delicacies spread out on the tables, until Liza broke away from her admirers long enough to whisper, “I’ve got something special for you in the back of my buggy.”
He figured she meant a hamper of chicken, but before he could force a thanks to his lips, she was whisked away. Likely females were scarce in the Wyoming Territory. He hadn’t managed a word with Gabriella and not more than a sentence with Liza. No wonder there was bad blood between the many-wived Mormons and the women-scarce Gentiles.
Ian was grateful for his relative solitude. He had problems to consider. The take from the poker tables would give him a highway fund and he could get a sealed bid from the general store to furnish him with wheelbarrows, graders, and shovels, but the road gang was going to be a problem. From the looks of this crowd, there were
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