I ambled back through the railyard at an easy gait. Most I had to avoid on the way were the cars ghosting the tracks or otherwise being shunted by the workers. Only a few of them paid me any mind, at that it was only a tip of the hat or a curt nod. Gestures of acknowledgement that they seemed to pass out to any of the soldiers. At least, the ones currently stumbling back to the station platform aside from me. The engineers would still be a while yet, unloading their mountain of supplies. With luck they’d get a shot at the town like the rest of us. Couldn’t imagine that any of them had gotten to wet their whistle recently.
After making it back across the railyard we walked along the platform until Ipassed into the station building proper. Union Station was a big building. Had an ancient, historical look to it. Roman, lots of mason and stone work. A lot like buildings you’d find in the cities back east. An attempt to make it seem more prominent and important. Should’ve been prominent enough, being at the heart of the city. But I guess whoever built it felt they needed to make themselves seem legitimate, make a name for themselves. The station stood with three buildings, two wings to either side of it, two stories tall. Then, between them both, a great hall that stood at easily three or maybe four. We had to pass through that great hall to leave the station. Only impression I got of the place was that it was gaudy. Lots of granite work, three crystal chandeliers dangling from the roof overhead. Tall windows lined the walls, casting light long through the hall. The masonry carved with flowery reliefs.
Found Rob and Murtagh waiting inside the station. They stood next to the counter for what I assumed was the telegraph. Both spoke in rather hushed tones, trying not to draw attention to themselves. As much as two army men, big as they were, and dressed in uniform, could. Which was to say they stuck out worse than a duck among chickens. Captain Murtagh was in the midst of signing off on something, speaking to Rob, then the boy behind the counter. Only to then go back to Rob, speaking just as tersely. Only thing I could guess was something wasn’t up to snuff. Though what, I’d no clue.
Without much reason to linger inside the station, I ambled my way to the front of the hall. A few eyes glanced on me as I went. Our company had drawn attention from the city regulars and travelers, naturally. Some of whom were still eyeing the cavalry boys who lingered, making a spectacle of themselves. Always a curious sight, seeing soldiers on the march. We didn’t demand respect, nor their attention, but we received it all the same. Anyone who didn’t give it, instead looked down their noses at us. Something more common to the folk I could see wearing their furs and beaver-ass hats. The indignation that we might not place their safety over some other need. More than a few of them had probably paid handsomely to see us here all the sooner.
I could not be bothered to care for any one of them.
There were people out there that needed us more than a bunch of self-important robber-barons.
All the same, I passed through the great hall and left out the front past a pair of double doors. From there the whole of Denver spilled out before us. Again I was reminded of the cities I’d see back east. Making this city ever more alien to the countryside I knew that surrounded it. Buildings that scratched at three and four stories high, built by quarried stone and brick. At the same time butting up against wood slat buildings that were lucky to scratch at two. Signage jutted and dangled from every building, silently hawking goods and services. More than a few proffered tobacco and liquor, at least one for a spectacles maker, ironic of it. The air, blowing crisp and cool off the mountain somewhere in the western distance, was mingled with the odors of the city’s bowels. The ripe stink of animal manure and nose stinging stench of urine. Carried on by smoke, both from the trainyard behind us, and the chimneys ahead of us. The sort of thing you only got used to if you spent all your time in such places.
I cannot confess to having spent much time in the city, but I’d spent enough time in places foul enough to have built a tolerance.
The doors closed behind us as we stepped out onto the streets of Denver. Bustling with foot and hoof traffic, symphonic with the rumble of wagon wheels and the nickering of horses. The buildings ran parallel out from the station. A similar fashion to the way they would in small towns that fed off a main drag. Except that the buildings went back further in rows and columns. Broken by streets at certain spots. Suppose that itself wasn’t so strange a thing for the way cities were built, east or west.
Rob and I turned onto a wood slat walkway beside the street and continued to amble. The walkway sat just to the side of the dirt and mud that made up the street. A lack of ruts and pits told me it’d been some time since rain had come through. The mud came from some other fetid. Likely only aiding in the stink that pervaded the air. Having grown surrounded by the smell of manure under the summer heat, I knew worse. It made neither tolerable.
I took a slow drag off my quirley as I made my way across the street from the station. There was a bench I could seat myself on, likely meant for passengers of the omnibus. Though I took it more as a place I could rest while I waited and not need to stand around. Not much telling how long either of them would be. Worst I would be doing was stealing a seat from someone looking for the Omnibus. As such, it came and went in the time I spent waiting, but nobody came looking for it. The driver cast me a side-eye, but I motioned for him to keep moving. Was happier just enjoying my quirley.
A good ten, maybe fifteen minutes after I’d got comfortable, another knot of soldiers made their way out. The Engineers this time. They went about their way in a more reserved fashion, for soldiery at least. Even off the leash for a bit they were still working. Probably jawing about what they may need to do when we arrived. The trenches that needed digging and beams that needed raising. They’d make sure, in the long run, whatever we built would be built to last. At least long enough that it’d survive however long any of us lingered there. Which would be more than enough to make the Government happy. Never met anything made by them that didn’t need a new coat of paint after a year or two.
After the engineers left, Captain Murtagh and Rob made their way out of the station. The captain reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cheroot cigar and a match. He struck the match on one of the stone columns as they passed it, putting the cigar to the flame. The rough roll of tobacco lit slowly and burned with a blue smoke, as he spoke to Rob. Speaking smoothly and relaxed, whatever the business was. Rob merely nodded. Listening to whatever the Captain was telling him in the calm and impassive way a statue might. But I knew he was listening well. Rob was like that.
All at once the captain gave him a nod, and dismissed Rob. Then turned and started down the street at a quick step. Rob watched him for a moment as he went. Made sure the captain was well on his way before he began to scan the street. His eyes trailing to me after a moment of looking, and a smirk quirked its way onto his mouth.
Rob Mauss was an ox of a man. Most would take that to mean he was big, stupid, and had a tendency to break anything he bumped into. The first was a guarantee anyone could see. He didn’t tower over most men, but he stood close to eye level with anyone. Difference lay in the fact that most men weren’t built like a stack of bricks. Or strong enough to move them all in one go. But he wasn’t a stupid man, even if there were times I thought him dumber than a horse's ass. People would get that impression though, looking at him. He had a thick neck and a strong brow. Beneath his officer’s cap was a mop of coarse and curly brown hair, on his face a penciled mustache. Would’ve been a full and bushy one not but a few weeks prior. Being an officer changes things. The men in brass care less when you’re out chasing men in the mountains of Mexico. But if you come in looking like a scrub bush they’ll ream you out cleaner than a fresh milled cannon. Especially when chasing the men in those mountains earns you a commendation for Valor.
He crossed the street at a quick gait, briefly looking off in the direction of Murtagh. When the captain didn’t look back, we took it as safe enough to converse.
“Long ride from Hays.” I said, rising to meet Rob
“Hell of a long ride.” Rob agreed, smirking “Same old world though.”
“For one of us.” I said, taking a long pull from my quirlie “Congrats on the Medal. After all the crap we went through in Mexico, I’m glad someone got something to show for it.”
“I put a good word in for you, like I promised.” Rob chuckled, shrugging “I’m not surprised they didn’t do much to commend you boys after Crawford passed.”
“So it goes.” I nodded, smirking “... Hungry?”
“Thirsty too.” Rob agreed
“Then you can buy us both a drink.” I said, stepping forward “Officer’s pay can afford that, I’d think.”
“Buy you a drink?” Rob asked, shaking his head “Ain’t you supposed to be congratulating me?”
“I’ll buy the second round.” I told him, motioning towards the station “We don’t get after it though, we’ll blow the first break we’ve had in weeks.”
Rob eyed me for a moment, then the station. He knew I was right about one thing at least, and nodded “Yeah, suppose we should get after it… I’ll buy you a drink, but you owe me one.”
“Sounds fair to me.” I nodded “Long as we don’t get caught for Fraternizing.”
Without wasting another moment on banter, the two of us made our way down the street. Going the opposite way of Murtagh and eager to see what we could of the city with the short time we had.
…
My initial assessment of Denver proved more true with each step we took. With my time in the service, I’d passed through more than a few shady towns along the plains. Places that cropped up with the railroad. Where the water was nice, where there was good ground for farming. Where there was iron and coal to pull from the stones, trees to be hewn into lumber. On the rarest of occasions, where gold and silver were glittering from crags in the earth like stars trapped away from the sky.
From what I understood, it was the last of these reasons that gave birth to Denver. Spurred on by the greed and zeal of fortune seekers. Searching and squabbling over every speck of shine they could find for themselves. That kind of thinking ain’t good for the mind of anyone, especially if kept long. It rots away at reason as much as any other vice will. Which I suppose also fit, then, that Denver itself was showing to be a rotten town.
In my time in the service, especially in past months, I’d traveled through many of the towns. Along the southern border and the frontier, there were few who carried the word of law. Fewer still who would enforce it. You would get the rare few, Marshals, Rangers, and the odd circuit judge. But where the law could not reach, or held no sway, trouble took root. They were the places you could count for it to grow unchecked. Until the people choke themselves like corn grown too close together. Right until whatever drove them there dried up. Be it the land, the water, or the shine. Only then would it whither and die. Taking any who thought to linger there with it.
But these were places often both remote and distant. The kinds of places men would ride for days between and scarce see another soul.
Denver was not such a place.
It held all the trappings of a modern metropolis. The stone and masoned buildings. The high strung wires that feed both the telegraph and the new street lamps. Glowing with the golden light of electricity and lightning rather than oil and wick. It even heated itself with steam. We passed pits carved into the ground where workers struggled with the piping and tunnel work for it. Like massive veins leading back to the boiling heart of the city, pluming smoke high into the clouds.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A veneer of gold to show the rest of the territory where tomorrow lay.
It was only a veneer. Beneath it lay what Denver had been, may have still been.
Rob and I could hardly turn a corner without seeing the signs. The hung high enough for all to see, painted in vibrant and eye-catching ways. Many even had lights about them, so that even in darkness they’d draw customers like moths. But the only services they’d offer were the ones that’d burn them. Some were the vices of the working man, ones I’d been gripped by more than once. The saloons and tap houses, pouring spirits and serving fine food. Urging a man to imbibe beyond his pay and drink his wages into the barman’s pocket. More insidious still, places you would not see as soon back east. Casinos and dancehalls. Places that a man had to watch himself ever more carefully. Where a turn of the cards could mean violence to the wrong man. More than a few tales abound of men being shot in the back or catching a knife for their luck. Or for being too ‘lucky’. Same for those who went to the halls for more than just the dancing and music. Seeking what might wait for them in the private rooms at the back.
Some not even need to look that far. As Rob and I continued down the thoroughfare, my eyes fell on more than a few of the more shaded places along the street. Where the company waited for the enterprising to come and seek companionship.
We trailed our way past one such alleyway, and spied such a sight. A man in dark clothing proffering a young woman with braided blonde hair in a bun about her head. Her dark bodice tightly trimmed around her. On the breast of the man, I could see the glint of brassy light that indicated he was an officer of some station. Further cemented by the cap upon his head. Of all the things that he could be doing in the broad noon light, he deemed it good sport.
“Some place, eh?” Rob asked as we quickly left the alley behind us. He took a look about us as we went, a small bit of wonder and mirth in his face “Except for the buildings, I’d almost think we were still on the trail.”
“Which one?” I asked “The ones north or south of the border?”
“Does it matter which?” He asked
I thought about it a moment, then shrugged “Liked the beans they served south of the border. Better than the ones Tennyson and the cooks made.”
“Good bit of pepper to them.” Rob agreed “Be nice to see what fare this place has.”
“I’m sure they’ll have something good.” I said, pulling from my quirley “Heard tell they’ll give it free for a few drinks.”
“Our kind of place.” Rob nodded, looking across the street “Among others.”
I let my gaze follow his across the way. Where I spied a few others from our company making their way along the street. Gone was the calm and focused air they’d had while gathered together. Now they moved with the energy required of a group of hooligans. They themselves had emerged from a shop that sat nestled amongst the buildings. A two story brick and mortar affair, windows along the second floor. The signage announced it as a Gunsmith and Hardware Supply. Evidenced more by what our fellows carried out with them. New iron and leather, strung and slung about them. The lever guns produced by Winchester, Henry, and Marlin. Popular, as I’d seen in my time, among those who lived along the frontier and border. Never the like to be officially employed by the Army. But I’d heard and seen of their use, unofficially, first hand. Where the long-arms in our employ held one shot, they held near enough to fire all week long.
Of course, being that they weren’t weapons officially employed, it was on their user to keep them fed. Not all of them at the same .45 Springfield our trapdoor rifles ate. But if they were willing to sink their pay on it, that was their own determination. The same held for the rest of us when it came to our pay. Didn’t always happen that when we came into town that those we were banded with would waste their wages on the first luxuries they could find. But it was not an uncommon thing to see the boys in the cavalry blow through their money at the bar either. Or for the engineers to spend it on the ladies. A gun was, in some ways at least, a more long term investment.
As Rob and I continued along the way, we passed by a tailory and I couldn’t help but catch my reflection in the glass. Much the way I would when I’d check myself shaving. Thin in the face, jaw wide in the corners and narrower towards the chin. Nicked myself more than once trying to get it right. Nose a bit thin and crooked, eyes a bit blue, not quite reflected right in the glass. Hair and brow somewhere between gold wheat and charred oak. Heavy mustache hanging over my upper lip, first scratchings of a beard growing in around it. Would need to shave soon, or catch a barber the first chance I got. Would be due for a trim soon, or let it grow through the coming winter. My Ma always said I had my father’s hair and eyes. Never knew the truth of it.
Regardless, I hadn’t been trying to catch myself
There was not much to see of the Tailory from the outside. A bit too bright out. But I could recognize a few changes of clothes, coats and hats. I couldn’t help but think of the past winter, and the bitter cold that had come with it. If we were to remain in the mountains, I thought it might do me well to seek out a better coat. Had my eye for something long and heavy. Though that moment would not be the time.
“Still think about how close we came to getting him, up in the mountains.” Rob said idly “Been about a year since, ain’t it?”
“A few weeks more than.” I said, taking another drag from my quirley “What a mess that was.”
“Weeks of chasing them through the mountains before we finally got them to talk terms.” Rob shook his head “Still think about what happened with Captain Crawford.”
“That whole mess was on Crook.” I said “Best damn thing that could’ve happened was Sheridan replacing him. Even if it’s landed us here now.”
“Doesn’t change, we should've had them dead to rights.” Rob said “Them sneaking off in the cover of night doesn’t change anything.”
“They would’ve been dead if Crook had gotten them back over the border.” I said, flicking the cherry off my quirley and tossing the butt aside. I tightened my cap down against my head. “After all the running those Natives had us doing, you know more than a few of the company were out for blood.”
Rob grimaced and didn’t say anything. I knew full well how that whole situation ate at him. Nobody was happy with how that campaign had gone. Especially not after we’d lost Crawford. Even earning himself a medal for it didn’t change matters.
I nudged him on the shoulder, before nodding a little further along. “Think I see a place down that way worth stopping into. C’mon, we ain’t getting more time for lollygagging.”
With a bit of nudging, the two of us carried on down the thoroughfare. What we saw as we went didn’t elevate my opinion of the place. Hadn’t expected better, and didn’t get it. Fairly sure we walked past someone robbing a general store. Wouldn’t be surprised if they were related to the officer currently sequestered back in that alley. After that was a barber, carpenter, and a butcher. Each probably one of a dozen that were around Denver. A place the size of Denver wouldn’t do with less. Back east in my hometown, I could remember the trouble it caused when more than one of any of them set up shop. Though I always thought it funny as child, especially when my gran’pap would play them off each other. Like ‘So-and–so has better cuts’ or ‘I could go to nonesuch and get a fairer shake’. Knew what it took to make sure he got a good shake, and keep the wooden nickels out of his pocket. Simple knowledge that probably wouldn’t fly so well in a place like Denver. The walk down the Thoroughfare alone had already been as busy as the main drag in Mount Hyde. Only thing that we hadn’t seen yet was a saloon or tavern to wet our whistles at. Instead, Denver had something that wouldn’t have been had back East.
Gambling halls.
No doubt there were saloons and taverns to eat at, further along. But in a twisted way, it felt fitting that the first place a man might find to repast in Denver would be a gambling hall. That he could step out from the station and walk a few dozen yards to the casino for a drink and meal. Town was as wide awake as you could ever hope to find. Could see that a host of the boys from our company were making their way to it as well.
The hall was another of the many brick buildings that lined the thoroughfare. It went up two floors, had windows for what I could assume were either lodgers, or ladies. The first floor had been done up with a wood facade and bright paints. White wash and gold that would catch the eye at any time of the day or night. An awning hung over the doors, a pair of large window and wood doors that were locked open. Leaving only a pair of batwings to block the way. We knew we’d found the right place when a man came stumbling out the door blind drunk. He was an older man with as much dust on his clothes as there was gray in his hair. He passed through the batwings, stumbled a few steps, and tried to round the corner onto the thoroughfare. Only succeeded in tripping himself and landing flat on his face. He stayed there as Rob and I went inside. Man either had to be a featherweight, or been drinking since sun-up.
We pushed through batwings and stepped into the hall. The smell of tobacco smoke hung in the air, mixed with a bunch of things I only barely picked out. Dry paper, the bite of pepper and old sweat. At the back of it, the punch of manure, just barely hiding. The effect of someone not wiping their feet well enough. The further in we went, the more our eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the hall. Following after the stink in the air, were the sounds the echoed through the hall. The dull roars of laughter and low rumbles of discontent as money changed hands. Winners and losers passing cards and rolling dice as they swilled drinks and frittered away their pay. At the back of all the hooting and hollering, were the sounds of clacking billiards and a tightly tuned piano. The one tickling the ivories was part way into a rendition of Oh Susannah that felt a touch slower than I could recall hearing. As Rob and I went, we found the gambling tables to either side of us, fillings the space. The first few tables, nearest the windows were poker. Games of Five Card Stud, from what I could see. A game we’d commonly play when we were off-duty on the trail. There was another variant down near the panhandle we’d partaken in while there. But it hadn’t seemed to make its way north yet. Past them were the games that the House ran. The Blackjack and Craps tables. Could hear the wheel of a roulette table as it whirled on its bearings. Each win or loss was accompanied by the clamor of those who lost and won. The kind of noise you’d hear right before someone would draw iron and fit you for a pinewood suit. That it never erupted into gunfire was a sign most people were smart enough not to go drawing iron.
Or, as I soon saw, that they’d been made to leave it behind.
Not far into the saloon, A big and rough looking man sat at an old card table. Behind and beside him, chests and trunks. He looked at Rob and I in the disagreeable way a hibernating bear might, should you kick it in the nose. His eyes scanning over the guns at both our hips.
“The circus in town?” The man asked
“What you mean?” Rob asked, putting on his officer’s voice.
“Been a couple of you boys come in here now, dressed up like that.” The man answered, shooting Rob the Eye. “Either the circus’s come to town, or there’s something else going on.”
“Army.” I told him “Word’ll get around soon enough. We’ve been sent to start building a post a little ways outside the city.
The man cast his eye to me for a moment, then back to Rob, nodded in turn. “... ‘Bout time I suppose.” The man said, nodding “Word is that the Mayor’s been petitioning it for a dog’s age. Picked a hell of a time for it though, Winter’ll be on soon.”
“We can deal with a bit of snow.” Rob assured, giving the man a smirk “But a nice drink’ll help keep the chill off.”
“You’ve come to the right place then.” The man nodded, before motioning to our pistols “Just check them here, had it one too many times somebody didn’t like the way their luck turned.”
“We’ll get them back when we leave?” Rob asked, making it clear we would be in any case.
“‘Less you rack up a tab you can’t pay?” The man asked “We’ll keep it here for you while you drink. As long as you’re paid up, then there’s no reason you won’t.” He torn a bit of paper off and passed it to Rob “Just give that back when you’re done, and you’ll get your gun.”
“... I’ll hold you to that.” Rob nodded, setting his pistol onto the table. Wasn’t much different from checking our rifles and kit with the Quartermaster. Except there was a chance we weren’t getting them back. Be fine as long as we didn’t get too deep into our cups, which we weren’t planning to anyway. We were looking for a meal as much as a drink anyhow.
“What’s the fare today?” I asked “We’ll see ourselves to the bar.”
“Luncheon’s cold meats, bread and cheese.” the man answered, motioning towards the back of the hall “Barman’s got a menu back there, if you’re willing to pay extra. Got Oyster soup and crackers if you’ve got the stomach.”
“Fancy.” I said, smirking “Too rich for my blood though.”
“Then try your luck at the tables.” The man said, shrugging back into his seat. “Either way, Pistols here, collect them when you’re done.”
My hand drummed over the butt of my iron for a moment, before I drew it out and set it on the table. The man took it, along with Rob’s and set them into the trunk next to him. He then scratched out a receipt for the both of us. We took them and the man nodded.
“As you can tell, bar’s to the back.” He said “If you run into your boys on the way, tell them to keep their noses clean. I got a bad feeling when they walked in ahead of you.”
Rob looked at the man puzzled “Who came in before us?”
He was answered by a sharp shout, and the shattering of glass near the bar. We all turned to look at the commotion, and I heard Rob curse. Would’ve too if I was in his shoes.
One of the Cavalrymen had just broken a bottle over someone’s head.
