Episode 16

The Scotchman Didn't Lie

Ben Temple sawed off another bite of the aromatic and juicy steak placed before him. He stabbed the hunk of meat with his fork and lifted it to his face, breathing in the enticing smell of the charbroiled morsel before taking it into his mouth. He made sounds of pleasure as he masticated the flavorful, moist, and perfectly cooked cow flesh.

“Good isn’t it?” Joe Wiley smiled over his own plate filled with a slab of beef.

“I’ll grant you that Scotchman didn’t lie about it. Slow cooked and properly marinated. Cooking longhorns is an art, and this is an artist at work, son,” Ben said, chewing.

Joe nodded as he hungrily tucked into his steak.

The dining room of the Grand Prairie was, as expected, as well appointed as the rest of the hotel. The lower walls and the furnishings done in the Queen Anne style like the rest of the place. Worldly elegance with a soft and light mien. The emphasis on appearance and comfort. The tables and chairs had a graceful curvilinear form and were marked by cabriole legs, the chair backs comfortably curved to fit the spine and crowned by a simple carved shell. All the pieces were crafted from mahogany and embellished with lacquered detailing and displayed a reddish polished sheen. Someone has put some money and taste as well as pride into this oasis.

Ben and Joe felt like kings on their thrones in some fine dining hall of old.

“The only thing that would be better is if I could listen to some fine music after a stomach full of meat and some quality belly wash,” Ben said.

“Bound to be somewhere that’ll provide that pleasure,” Joe said. “Among others.”

At that moment the hotel waiter, a man of short stature who, by divine providence, was named Little and, adding insult to injury, dubbed Shorty from early on, came to check on his charges and refill their drinking glassware.

“Everything satisfactory, gents?”

“Couldn’t be better. Except for finishing up with some good music and a stiff drink afterwards. Where would a body find that in Mercury Wells?” Ben asked.

“The Majestic. It’s got a pipe organ and the smoothest drinks this side of the Pecos,” Shorty said.

“Thank you kindly. That will add to your gratuity. That sounds just the place. A home away from home.” Ben smiled easy, wiping his chin with a white linen napkin.

“Or just a home. The other place is just the place to sleep it off,” Joe said. He smirked and gave a wink at Shorty. Shorty winced a smile back and returned to his work.

“Well at least the new town marshal will know where to find me,” Ben said.

“I never needed to be a marshal to know that,” Joe said.

“Well, I did some listening around. As I do often. My eyes may be useless, but these ears pick up a lot. You sit long enough, and folks ignore your presence, let their mouths run. And what I have heard tells me this town is a snake pit. Lots of money and no direction or real order. Everybody out for himself. That is a very dangerous combination. Particularly for someone that is out to change that in any significant way. You step careful, marshal,” Ben warned.

Joe listened to the older man and weighed his words with respect and sobriety. Joe nodded.

“I’ll be as careful as I need to be and still get the job done,” Joe said.

“This town’s got powerful men with interests here. Lot of cash on the table. Some of their interests are shared. Cattlemen need the railroad and railroads need freight. Cowboys need a place to get their bells rung and a gutful of whiskey. That’s where your work is.”

“Different town. Same old story. The moneymen want a balance of peace and profit. I’m that balance, Ben.”

“But there’s something else here. Can’t you feel it? This town under six months old but here we sit in a hotel as fine as anything in Austin or even New Orleans. That’s money. Bigger money than a shithole town like this deserves. Hell, you and I both know this Mercury Wells will be a ghost town inside of five years. Maybe less,” Ben said, leaning over the table, voice low.

Joe shrugged. “The Scotchman overplayed his hand. Spent his money unwisely.”

“Hell. That Scotty didn’t build this place. Ever see a Hibernian throw around money like this? He’s just a hired man. Someone else paid a pile to set this up. Probably has money spent all over the county.”

“The railroad, maybe?”

“They got what they want here already. A water stops and a railhead for beeves. No, son. It’s something else.”

“You keep your ear to the ground then, old man,” Joe said.

“What’s your first step here?” Ben said, tilting sweet cream into his coffee.

“I’ll be needing deputies. I’ve already sent wires out for some able guns. But no reply as yet. I told Coolie Taylor to join us here. No word back.”

“I’ll be able to smell that one when he hits town,” Ben cracked wise.

“One way or the other, I will have the reins on Mercury Wells inside a month. Maybe sooner,” Joe said.

Ben nodded, face solemn. Their dinner conversation was disrupted by the shriek of a woman from somewhere nearby.

Joe stood abruptly and kicked back his chair to dash out of the hotel.

Shorty ran to the door to see what he could see of the commotion on the lamp-lit street.

“He’s like one of those old Knights of the Round-table. He hears a woman cry and he is off like a shot,” Ben said. “Now, what does your menu offer for dessert, Shorty?”