Calder Brand - Janet Dailey Page 0,8

and ears as they rode into Dodge City. After weeks away from civilization, the noise and activity rocked his senses. From the nearby railroad yards, the hoot of train whistles, the hiss of steam, and the clickety-clack of iron wheels mingled with the bawl of cattle and the shouts of the drovers herding them up the chutes into the railway cars.

A haze of dust, raised by horses and wagons, hung over the unpaved streets. Cowboys sauntered along the boardwalks or stood in groups, smoking, watching the passersby, and catcalling any woman who caught their fancy. From the swinging doors of a saloon came the tinny music of an untuned piano and the sound of raucous laughter.

Joe nudged his companion. “Where are we supposed to meet the boss?”

Zeke grinned. “At the livery stable, where he left the wagon. But we don’t have to be there till three o’clock, and it’s barely lunchtime. We’ve got half the afternoon to enjoy ourselves. We can do anything we want to.”

For the first time, Joe felt a prickle of unease. He’d wondered why Zeke had invited him to town instead of asking one of the older, more experienced men. Now the answer slid into place. A man like Shorty or Spanish would have kept Zeke in line. With a young greenhorn like Joe along, Zeke could be the one in charge. He really could do anything he wanted.

In his head, Joe could hear his mother’s cautioning voice. He willed himself to ignore it. Here in Dodge City, adventure waited around every corner. As long as he was here, damn it, he might as well have a good time.

They dismounted, tethered their horses to a hitching rail, and stepped up onto the boardwalk. Joe had to remind himself not to stare at the people they passed—rawboned, weather-burned men whose bearing exuded danger; women dressed for seduction, walking in pairs or groups, smiling boldly, as if daring the world to judge them; cowboys like Zeke and Joe, gawking at the sights; settlers’ wives in bonnets and plain dresses, keeping their husbands and children close.

They passed the hotel—probably where the boss and Lorna were staying. The smells wafting from the dining room made Joe’s stomach rumble. “I could use some lunch,” he said.

“If we spend money on food, we won’t have enough for fun,” Zeke said. “Come on. I know just the place to start.”

Two doors past the hotel, Zeke stopped outside the swinging doors of a saloon.

“We’re going in here?” As soon as Joe spoke, he realized he’d asked a stupid question.

“Hell, yes, we’re going in here.” Zeke leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Now, don’t you go crawling through the door like a scared puppy. You walk in like you own the place. And if anybody asks, you’re eighteen.”

Joe followed his swaggering companion through the door. The place appeared as dark as a cave to Joe, after he’d spent hours in the glaring sunlight. Murmured voices and the slap and shuffle of cards blended with the odor of stale tobacco. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Joe could see a long bar on one wall. The shelves behind it were stocked with an array of glass liquor bottles.

Four men played cards at one of the round tables in the room. Joe glimpsed a whiskey bottle and a stack of bills before he tore his eyes away. The men didn’t look like the sort who’d take kindly to his watching their game.

The other tables were empty. A piano sat in a shadowed corner. A stairway at the back led to a second-floor balcony.

“You should see this place at night,” Zeke muttered in his ear. “Talk about a hot time . . .” His voice trailed off as he moved toward the bar, strutting like a rooster with his shoulders unnaturally squared.

The bartender, a stocky, balding man, was polishing glassware. “What’ll it be, gents?” he asked.

“Two whiskeys. One for me and one for my friend here.” Zeke fished a handful of coins out of his pocket and counted them in the palm of his hand before laying his money on the bar. “Whatever kind is cheapest,” he said.

“I figured as much.” The bartender took a plain bottle off the shelf and poured three fingers into each of two glasses.

Zeke slid one glass over to Joe. “Drink up,” he said.

Joe eyed the whiskey in his glass. His mother had warned him about the evils of strong drink. And the yellow liquid in the murky glass looked about as