The Union Belle Page 17

  She began to weep, silently, letting the tears roll down her cheeks in the darkness. Finally she grew still, and, too tired to get up, she lay there and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  A knock at the door brought her awake with a start, and she came off the bed to stand before the door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Shep. Can I talk to you?”

  She hesitated. He had never come to her room, and it disturbed her to think that he might have wrong ideas. Nevertheless, he was the closest thing to a friend she had in Julesburg, so she said, “Just a minute, Shep.” She walked to the basin and cleaned her face before opening the door. He filled the frame with his huge bulk, and when she stepped back to admit him, he seemed to make the already tiny room even smaller.

  “What is it, Shep?” she asked, going to the lamp and turning up the wick. She had not seen him since Cherry had left town, and had assumed that the bouncer had gone with him. “Sit down.”

  He shook his head, and she noticed that his hazel eyes were bright with excitement. “Lola, I think I may have a line on your pa.”

  Lola stood very still, her face both shocked and expectant. The amber light of the lamp showed her features relax in relief, and her lips opened in surprise. Shep nodded, smiling slightly. “May be a bum steer, but I kept thinking about that picture. Near drove me crazy the way I couldn’t quite remember. I had sort of given up on it, but two days ago I run into Nick Bolton. He works for the railroad, but I ain’t seen him in a few months. Well, Nick knows every hand on the Union payroll, or pretty near, so I got to talking to him. Didn’t have the picture of course, but I described him and told Nick his first name was Jude.”

  “Did he know him, Shep?” Lola interrupted quickly.

  “Well—yes and no. If I’d had the picture, the guy mebbe could have done more. But he reminded me about a fellow I seen back at Grand Island—that’s where Cherry first set up his tent. His name was Jude, all right, and I guess he’s the one that rang my bell when I seen the picture. His name’s Jude Moran and he’s a foreman for one of the right of way gangs. They stay way out in front, so most of ’em don’t get back to town too often. I never seen him after Grand Island, but Nick says he’s with a gang out past Cheyenne.”

  Lola stood there, soaking in his words. “I’ve got to see him, Shep.”

  Yancy said cautiously, “Well, you can go back with me, Lola. I ain’t said nothin’ to Cherry about all this—but I know he wants you to come back to work at the Wagonwheel.” His rough features were inquisitive, and he spoke what had been on his mind. “Why didn’t you come along with us when we left, Lola?”

  “Cherry was getting too possessive.”

  “Guess that had to come. Cherry’s always had a way with women.” He thought hard, then shook his head. “Cheyenne ain’t much, Lola. It’ll be booming in a few weeks, soon as Casement changes his construction site from Julesburg to that town. Mostly tents right now, and a few shacks. Dunno where you’d stay or whut you’d do. And this fellow Moran, he may not be your pa.” A thought came to him, and he added, “I remember him because he was a preacher of some kind. Came into the Wagonwheel once and tried to preach a sermon. I had to take him out, of course.”

  His words brought a sudden excitement to Lola, and she said, “That sounds like him, Shep! My mother left him because he was crazy over religion.” She began to walk back and forth, thinking about what to do, and finally shook her head. “I want to go, Shep—but there’s no way. I won’t go back to Cherry, and any other saloon would be just as bad.”

  Shep Yancy’s face was scarred from a lifetime of fighting his way, but he possessed a store of shrewdness, and now his hazel eyes were alert. He said carefully, “Lola, I got an idea. May not be what you’d like, but I figured you wasn’t going to go back to work for Cherry. He was pressin’ you pretty hard; I seen that comin’ on.”

  He paused, and when Lola saw that he was reluctant to go on, she asked, “What’s your idea, Shep?”

  He shrugged and began, “I’m one of the roughs, Lola. You know that. I been taking care of myself since I was twelve and most of the time in pretty hard places. Sometimes I think I been a bouncer in every low-down joint in the country—and I’m getting tired of it. I don’t know nothing else, Lola, and I’m too dumb to learn, I guess.”

  “No, that’s not true, Shep,” she shook her head. “You could do something else if you wanted to. Now, what’s the idea?”

  “Well, I’ve been watching things at Cherry’s joint, and I noticed that there’s some fellows who don’t like that kind of place. They come there because it’s all there is—but what they’d really like is a small place where they could play cards, maybe even have something to eat. A place where they wouldn’t have to be afraid some drunk would let go with his Colt, you know what I mean, Lola?”

  “Well, I guess so,” she said slowly. “Are you thinking of opening your own place, Shep?”

  “Aw, Lola, I’m not smooth enough for that—but if you’d work with me, I think the two of us could have a good thing.”

  “Me?” she exclaimed. “Why, Shep, I don’t know anything about running a saloon!”

  “Maybe not, but I do,” he said quickly. “Now hear me out, Lola, before you say no. What I got in mind is a small place, with one good-sized room for a small bar and a few tables. A kitchen in the back for cooking, and a waitress to do the serving. Then we get about three or four smaller rooms off to the side, where a fellow could bring his friends and have a quiet game and a good meal. Make it real nice, you know? There ain’t never been nothin’ like that in any of the construction towns!”

  “But would it pay, Shep?” Lola asked doubtfully. “Would there be enough men who’d come to a place like that?”

  “Why, we won’t know till we try, Lola,” he said spreading his big hands wide. “But I got a stake and I’m willing to risk it. I been gambling all my life, but this time I’d be gambling on myself—and on you—instead of the turn of a card.”

  “What would I do, Shep?”

  “That’s my big idea, Lola,” he said, and excitement came into his voice. “We’d call the place the Union Belle Casino. And you’d sort of be the hostess, see? You could deal some blackjack, but mostly if you’d just be there, it’d make the place different. I can take care of the bar and boss the cook, and I can handle any trouble that comes along—but I want a place with class—more of a club than a saloon, don’t you see?”

  Lola said impulsively, “I’ll do it, Shep! I’ve been walking the floor for days trying to figure out what to do, and I think this is it. I’ve even got a little money to put into it.”

  “Lola, that’s great!” Shep was so excited he reached out and put his huge hands on her shoulders, and his eyes gleamed. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat. We got plans to make, girl!”

  Lola picked up her coat, and as they left the room, she asked, “What about Cherry? Will he get angry if you start your own place?”

  “He never took me to raise,” Shep shrugged. “Anyway, we won’t be taking much of his trade—just the high-class part.” They left the boarding house, and as they walked down the street he spoke rapidly, full of plans and bubbling over with excitement. “I figure Casement and Reed will move to Cheyenne in two weeks, about. There’s a building there I got spotted. It’s just what we need, Lola! Used to be some kind of storehouse, but we can throw up some partitions, put some rugs on the floor and hang some chandeliers, and we’re open for business!”

  “The Union Belle Casino,” Lola mused. “It may work, Shep. We’ll give it our best try, won’t we?”

  “How about we go fifty-fifty, Lola? Partners?”

  “All right,” she smiled and shook his work-hardened hand. “Partners it is. When can we leave?”

  “In the morning. I can rent the place and fix up one of the rooms for a bedroom for you, Lola. We can make it real nice. And we’ll hunt up Nick Bolton and show him that picture of your pa.”

  They ate supper, and the next mo
rning left on the work train. Shep had made some sort of arrangement with the conductor, and they had a seat in a car packed with Irish laborers, most of them with headaches from their activities the night before.

  As the train huffed and moved in short jerking motions out of the station, Lola looked out at Julesburg, feeling no regrets at leaving. She turned to Shep and gave him a smile. “Here’s to Cheyenne and the Union Belle, Shep!”

  He nodded happily, and the train picked up speed, clicking over the rails, straining forward toward Cheyenne.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A Different Kind of Preacher

  “It looks great, don’t it, Lola?”

  It was late Saturday afternoon and Shep was standing in the middle of the main room of the building he and Lola had labored over for three weeks, his face oozing with pride and satisfaction. “There won’t be nothing like the Union Belle any closer than St. Louis!”

  Lola straightened her aching back, took a careful survey of the room, and agreed. “It does look nice, doesn’t it, Shep.” Then she smiled ruefully, adding, “It ought to look good. We’ve broken our backs and spent almost every penny we had on it.”

  She thought back to how dismal the old building had been three weeks earlier. When Shep had brought her into the gloomy old warehouse, her faith in the project had faltered, for all she could see was dirt, cobwebs, and rough walls. But Shep had been so enthusiastic that he had carried her along. They had hired four Mexicans and had labored along with them to transform the barn-like structure into what it now was.

  Lola sat down at one of the new tables, poured herself and Shep a glass of lemonade, and admitted, “I’m a little scared, Shep. If this thing doesn’t work, we’re in trouble.”

  Shep sat down and drained his glass, helped himself to more lemonade, and gave her a smile. “Aw, Lola, it’s gotta work. This is the fanciest place in Cheyenne.”

  They both sat there drinking the tepid lemonade, looking around at the interior of the room they had invested so much of themselves into. It was not overly large—thirty feet wide and fifty feet long. The walls were freshly papered and all the woodwork gleamed with fresh white paint. The ceiling was high, giving the whole room an air of spaciousness not found in most frame buildings in western towns. The floor had been in good shape, but even so they had scrubbed hard to clean the heart pine until the grain was visible.

  The fixtures and furniture had come from Max Dietrich’s saloon, the Red Devil, in Julesburg. Shep had discovered that Max was going back East and had bought his entire stock. Since Max’s place had been the fanciest in Julesburg, the price was steep, but a bargain nonetheless. Along one side ran a high bar made of walnut that gleamed richly in the light of the six chandeliers, and behind it ran a mirror that reflected the entire room. Several of Max’s large pictures of scantily dressed saloon girls had been vetoed by Lola, despite Shep’s wish to display them, but she had kept landscapes, which now hung along the walls. Eight round tables and matching chairs had been stripped of their old finish and now gleamed under several coats of varnish.

  A door at the back led to a small kitchen where they could hear the Chinese cook, Chen Song, humming happily as he banged his pots and pans together. Along one inside wall was a door that led to four smaller rooms. Three of these contained tables that could be used for cards or eating, and the fourth Shep had made into a bedroom for himself. Yet another door in the hallway led to narrow stairs and a large attic. This had been converted into Lola’s living quarters, and was composed of one large bedroom with a window looking down on Main Street, and a sitting room with a sofa and a pair of rockers.

  “I was talking to some of Reed’s surveyors last night,” said Shep, still sipping his lemonade. “They say it won’t be more’n a week or ten days before Casement pulls out of Julesburg and sets up here. We got this place done just in time, I reckon.” The sound of footsteps could be heard outside, and the front door opened to admit a tall, fair-skinned man of about thirty. “Hey, Nick,” Shep called out. “Come on in and wet your whistle. Lola, this is Nick Bolton. Nick, this is the girl I told you about, Lola Montez.”

  Bolton pulled off his hat to reveal curly yellow hair. “Pleased to meet you,” he said in a high tenor voice.

  Lola smiled and got to her feet. “Glad to meet you, Nick. What’ll it be?”

  “Some beer would cut this dust in my throat, I reckon.” She got him a full schooner and he drank it thirstily. “Thanks, Lola.” He looked around the room and nodded. “Real fancy!”

  “Yeah, we been workin’ hard on it,” Shep acknowledged. “You hear anything about when Reed and Casement are gonna move the main camp from Julesburg to Cheyenne?”

  “Next week,” Bolton told him. “This town will be swarmin’ when they make the move.” He took another sip of his beer, and gave Lola a searching look. “You got that picture Shep was tellin’ me about?”

  “It’s up in my room,” Lola said eagerly. “I’ll get it.” The two men sat and talked as she left.

  When Lola returned, Nick studied the picture carefully, then nodded. “Sure, this is Jude Moran. He’s lost some hair and gained quite a few pounds—but I’m pretty sure this is him.” He gave the picture back to Lola, adding, “He’s bossin’ a crew that’s working on the right of way. They usually stay out for two or three weeks at a time. Then the boys get restless and have to come into town for a little recreation.”

  The two men sat there watching Lola, and she was conscious of their attention. “I think he may be a relative of mine, Nick. Could I go out where he’s working?”

  “I guess you could,” Bolton nodded. “But I ain’t sure just where they are right now. I asked Mack Travis, one of the surveyors about him, and he said that Moran goes and has a religious service every Sunday over at Fort Russell. The Sioux come into the Indian Agency there, and the way Mack told it, Moran gets them together and preaches at them.” Fort Russell was the U.S. Army post two miles north of Cheyenne.

  “I’ll borrow a wagon tomorrow, and we’ll take in the preachin’ if you want, Lola,” Shep offered.

  Lola said quickly, “Oh, thank you, Shep, I’d like that.”

  Bolton asked no further questions, but commented with a slight smile, “What’s Cherry say about you leavin’ him, Shep? He mad?”

  “Nah,” Shep shook his heavy head. “He offered me a raise, but I told him I wanted to be the boss for a while.”

  “Hear there’s likely to be fireworks if Winslow tries to pull a stunt like he did at Julesburg,” Bolton observed. “Cherry Valance ain’t likely to sit around and let that happen again. I hear he’s been makin’ some plans for Winslow with all the other saloon owners.”

  “We wasn’t invited to that party,” Shep said. “But it don’t surprise me none that he’s bent on takin’ revenge. Cherry’s used to havin’ his own way, and he ain’t a feller who forgets anybody who gets to him. He’s like a Sioux, Nick. He’ll be good for a year, never sayin’ a word, and then when you think he’s all calmed down, he’ll put a knife in you.”

  Bolton nodded. He drank the last of his beer, then got to his feet. “Like I say, I could be wrong, but I think Moran is the man you’re looking for, Lola.”

  He turned and left, and Shep said, “You sure you want to go to Fort Russell, Lola?”

  “Why, of course. That’s why I came here.” Lola gave Shep a look of surprise. “Why do you ask that?”

  Shep lifted his heavy hand and tugged at his whisker-covered chin. He was not normally a thinking man, but he had considered the possibility that things might not turn out as his friend hoped. “Oh, I dunno, Lola. But most of the time when I look forward to something and then get it—somehow the gettin’ never turns out like I expect. You say this man is your pa, but you ain’t seen him in what—twenty years?”

  “I don’t remember him much, Shep,” she answered, her eyes doubtful. “My mother left him when I was four, so I don’t really know what I expect. The only thing I know about him is that he’s always been rel
igious. That’s why my mother left him. She said he drove her crazy trying to reform her.”

  “Yes, well, that’s the way with some people,” Shep agreed. “And from what Nick says, he must still be about the same.”

  “He may be—and I may not want to have anything to do with him,” Lola admitted slowly. Then she rose to her feet, looking pensive. “But I do know one thing, Shep. I saw a letter he wrote, and he asked about me, wanted to help me, he said. So I’ve got to at least see him. What time do we need to leave in the morning?”

  “Well, Indians are never in a hurry,” Shep observed. “Guess we can leave about eight. That ought to be enough time to get there for the preaching.”

  Shep went off after supper, and Lola went to her room. Even though the furniture was old and rather worn, she had come to feel that this space was a citadel. She sat in a rocking chair looking down on Main Street, realizing that the peace that lay over the small town was about to be broken by the invasion of construction gangs. Already over twenty saloons and gambling houses were in place along the street, and though they were quiet now, in two weeks the street below would be a river of shouting, jostling men determined to plunge into vice with the same energy they used to lay rails.

  Finally she went to bed, and for a long time she lay there thinking about Jude Moran. Somehow the thought of meeting him frightened her. She could not understand why, for if he were not the kind of man she hoped for, all she had to do was turn her back and walk away. But lying there in the darkness, Lola realized suddenly that a hope had been building up in her—a hope that her father would bring some sort of stability into her rootless life. The longing for love that had been in her since childhood was stronger than ever. The men that were drawn to her could not offer the pure, selfless love she so needed. They sought her only to satisfy their own selfish appetites. She knew there had to be more to love than fleshly desires, more to life than aimlessness, and as she drifted off to sleep, she hoped her father might be able to give her some answers.