Lugar, he gave me and my nag one of those you’re-dead looks, and sulked off toward a barn and pen downslope some. I knew he was itching to spray some lead around, and not just at Critter neither.
“Mr. Cotton, come in.”
I didn’t really want him to be calling me that, but I wasn’t going to admit to being Mr. Pickens either, so I just marched up them iron steps to the platform at the end of the car, and on in.
Holy cats, I ain’t ever seen such a place, and I ain’t got the words for it. There was a mess of red velvet drapes sort of pinned up with gold tassels, and shimmery stuffed furniture I think my ma called brocade, and damned if there wasn’t a big old grandfather clock in a walnut case, and Venetian blinds on the windows, and a mess of them books, all leather and gilt, and vases full of daisies and whatnot, and a mysterious hallway along one side that went to other rooms in the railroad car.
And that blonde, she was nowhere in sight, and I figured it was all for nothing. I’d have given a month’s top- gun salary just to see her with her hair down and flowing around her shoulders. But hell, that’s Pickens’ Luck, and if I planned to live a while, I’d better just get used to it. My supply of women was pretty much limited to the red-lamp variety.
“We like comfort,” Scruples said. “And if this district runs out of ore, we’ll take our comfort with us.”
He motioned me toward a narrow corridor along one side, and we emerged into a compact dining area with a kitchen at the other end of the car. I warn’t feeling very pleasured by it. This place was full of stuff, like oil paintings on the wall and tablecloths. I’d heard of them tablecloths, but this was the first I’d ever laid eyes on one. This here one was a mess of white cloth laid over a table, just waitin’ to sop up stains. And napkins, too. I’d seen a few of those, but not these white ones sitting in rings of something that looked like silver. Maybe it was pewter. I hardly knew one from another, except it wasn’t gold. But there was gold around there. Them picture frames looked to be gold, and them spoons and forks, the handles was gold anyway. And them plates was purple and gold, like the colors outside.
Without asking, he poured me some coffee from a fancy jug, or whatever it was, and handed it to me. He poured one for himself, and motioned me to sit, which I did, sinking into a soft leather cushion. I sure had no notion why people live like that. It seemed a mess of work to me, and no time off to have a beer.
“We have an investment company that’s buying up mining properties in the district,” Scruples said. “Mostly properties that are delinquent in paying taxes, or have faulty deeds. The problem is, it’s hard to remove the previous owners from our property after we acquire it. You saw exactly what can happen. The loss of four of our men sets back our plans, and we’ll have to push to return to schedule.” He paused. “We intend to own the entire Swamp Creek Mining District.”
That coffee, I’d never tasted the like. It was like them beans got burnt. It was strong enough to stain the rear end of an antelope brown. But I sort of liked the flavor, and thought maybe if I roasted some Arbuckle’s beans hard before grinding them up, maybe I could do her.
Scruples, he looked me over amiably, his gaze focusing on me to see how I was responding to all this here stuff, so I just gazed back, wishing that blonde would show up out of one of them closed-off rooms. I didn’t half mind this man Scruples, even if he was as real as a three-dollar bill.
He smiled. “We lost about half of our work force,” he said. “And that’s where you come in. I’ve made inquiries and found you’re handy at a lot of things.”
I sort of knew what he was driving at, but long as he was using big words like inquiries, I’d have to sort it out later.
“You could quickly become a top man with the Scruples Company,” he said. “Maybe the straw boss. We’ve ten or fifteen evictions ahead of us, and then we’ll own every mining property we think has promise.”
“What’s evictions?” I asked.
“Oh, persuading people like Mr. Cork it would be wise to pack up and leave.”
“That’s all? Just talkin’ people into leaving?”
Scruples smiled in a way as if he thought I was dumber than a stump, and maybe I am.
“By whatever means,” he said.
I knew right then he was working around the truth of it with a mouthful of fancies.
“You mean push ’em out at gunpoint,” I said, “and using them guns if I have to.”
Scruples smiled. “It’s worth a hundred dollars a month to you.”
Holy cats, that’s more money than I ever seen before, and it made me itch. But I’d have to use my six-guns to kill people just for hanging onto the mines they started up. I thought about that, and I thought about the two slicks I’d met today, the one near the Mint and the one he called Lugar, and I didn’t much like the idea.
“I think not, Mr. Scruples,” I said.
“I don’t ask a second time,” he said.
I collected my sweaty old hat and stood up, and holy cats, that blonde walked in, and her hair was down around her shoulders, and I plumb stopped whatever I was doing right then and there.
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Copyright © 2009 William W. Johnstone
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