“All right, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” Falcon said.
“I have another wagonload of building material coming in a few days,” Garrison said. “I’ve hired Thompson Wagon Freight to meet the train and bring the material back. If you don’t mind, I would like you to ride with the wagons to meet the train, and then come back with them to see that the supplies get here safely.”
“I’ll be glad to do it,” Falcon said. “But now, if you don’t need me for anything else, I think I’ll take a look around town and maybe meet a few folks.”
“Yes, yes, good idea,” Garrison said. “Oh, and maybe at the outset, you shouldn’t tell anyone that you are here at my behest. You might learn more if people don’t perceive an affiliation between us.”
“My thought as well,” Falcon replied. He tipped his hat toward Kathleen. “Miss Garrison,” he said.
“Mr. MacCallister,” Kathleen replied with a subtle dip of her head.
Even from the front of the CNM&T Railroad office, Falcon could see the sign displayed on the false front of the building. Painted in large red letters, outlined in black, was the name of the saloon, Golden Nugget, as well as the names of the two owners; Corey and Prentiss Hampton. It was a short walk from the railroad office to the saloon, and in less than a minute, Falcon was stepping up onto the porch to go inside.
Falcon had come to the saloon, not only to enjoy a cool beer, but also to visit with the Hampton brothers. Though it was not generally known around town, Falcon was the one who had loaned the Hampton brothers the money they’d needed to open their saloon. He’d done that because he had known the Hampton brothers for many years. They had been childhood friends, growing up near MacCallister, and like Falcon and some of his brothers, Prentiss and Corey had fought on opposite sides in the war. Also, as with Falcon and his brothers, that had been put behind them so that the familial bonds were as strong as they ever were.
“I only ask two things of you,” Falcon said when he backed their operation. “Keep all the card games honest, and don’t water your whiskey. Because if you treat your customers fairly, I have no doubt but that you will do a good business.”
The Hamptons had kept their promise to him and the Golden Nugget had prospered.
From the moment Falcon stepped inside, he felt some relief from the heat. Borrowing a trick developed by the Indians, the Hampton brothers kept gourds of water hanging throughout their establishment. The evaporation of the water resulted in a saloon that was noticeably cooler than the outside temperature.
It was dark enough inside that Falcon had to stand for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The Hampton brothers were particularly proud of the bar, which had been shipped by rail and freight wagon all the way from New York.
Above the mirror was a large oil painting of a night train, its headlamp sending a beam ahead. Every window of every car was shining from interior light, and in every window there was a passenger, each passenger individually and painstakingly detailed. One of the passengers, by design, was Falcon MacCallister. The Hampton brothers were also depicted. That was because the painting had been commissioned specifically for the Golden Nugget Saloon.
Prentiss Hampton was standing at the far end of the bar, polishing glasses and laughing and joking with some of the customers, when he saw Falcon. With a big smile, he put down the glass and cloth, and walked quickly to Falcon’s end of the bar to extend his hand in welcome.
“Falcon!” he said. “What a pleasant surprise! Checking up on us, are you?”
Falcon laughed and shook his head. “Why should I do that? You boys paid back every cent you borrowed from me a long time ago.” He thought it best not to share the information that General Garrison had sent him a letter inviting him down.
“Wait until I tell Corey you are here,” Prentiss said. “You will have dinner with us tonight, won’t you? We have a new restaurant in town that’s really quite nice. It’s called the Vermillion.”
“Great, I’d love to eat with you,” Falcon said.
Looking toward the back of the saloon, Falcon saw a young woman come through the back door, then stop for just a moment to survey the room. The woman was very pretty, with raven-dark hair, high cheekbones, hazel eyes, and full lips. She was thin, but generously rounded in the right places. Falcon’s first thought was that she might be a bar girl, hired to tease the customers into buying more drinks. But as he looked at her more closely, he saw that she wasn’t dressed in the provocative manner of such women. Also, she had a young, innocent look about her, with no hint of the dissipation bar girls quickly acquired.
“Who is that?” Falcon asked.
Prentiss smiled. “Ah. I see you are taken with our pianist.”
“Piano player? You have a woman piano player?”
“She isn’t a piano player, she is a pianist,” Corey Hampton said, and hearing the voice of his friend, Falcon turned to greet him.
“Hello, Corey. What did you call her? A pianist?” Falcon asked.
“It’s what she calls herself. In fact, she absolutely insists upon the term,” Corey said.
“How did you get a—pianist—especially one as pretty at this young woman, to play piano in a saloon?”
“Her name is Rachael,” Corey explained. “She came to La Junta with a group of players, but the manager of the troupe absconded with all the money, leaving the players stranded. Most left, but I happened to be in La Junta at the time. I had heard her play, so I prevailed upon her to come to Higbee to play for us.”
“Rachael?”
“Rachael Kirby,” Corey said. He smiled as he saw Falcon’s lingering appraisal of the young woman. “She is pretty, isn’t she?”
Falcon nodded. “Yes, very,” he said.
Rachael smiled at a few of the customers, then sat at the piano.
