Lulu assumed a shocked pose, and the men laughed loudly.
Lulu sat down and Sue stood.
“This is Sue, blond and beautiful. What you may not know is, at the age of fourteen, Sue was forced into marriage with a Persian sheik. She spent ten years in Persia in the sheik’s palace, surrounded by luxury and attended to by a hundred servants. But she didn’t love the sheik.”
Sue made a sad, pouting expression and shook her head slowly.
“So, one night when all in the palace were asleep, Sue escaped, made her way to a seaport, and came to America. And now she is here with us, offering to red-blooded American men—for a price, of course—that which was once reserved for Persian royalty.”
Sue sat down, and Libby stood.
“And finally, Libby St. Cyr. Libby’s beauty speaks for itself, gentlemen. Libby is the daughter of a United States congressman from the state of North Carolina. For obvious reason, she has changed her last name to protect her father. And as some of you will find out, I’m sure, Libby is a wicked, wicked girl.”
Smiling, Libby shook her head and pointed a finger at Dupree, making the “shame on you” sign.
“We will be calling our establishment the Golden Cage,” Dupree went on. “Look for us when you come there, and remember, we are there for your pleasure.”
The wagon master waited patiently until Libby had sat down again and Dupree was through talking before he called out.
“Mr. Dupree, we’re all loaded up and ready to go whenever you are.”
“We’re ready, Mr. Clayton.”
“Head ’em up! Move ’em out!” the wagon master called.
Clayton’s command was followed by whistles, shouts, and the pistol pops of snapped whips as the train started forward. Rolling slowly up White Mountain Road, it was followed by what would be its symphony on the march, a cacophony of clopping hooves, clanking chains, squeaking wheels, creaking axles, and canvas snapping in the wind.
Hawke watched the train leave, then walked down to the livery to saddle his horse. Though back in town from Chicago for two weeks, he had not yet been out to Northumbria. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to telling Dorchester that he’d been fired from his job as a pianist on board the transcontinental train, since Dorchester had gotten the job for him. On the other hand, he felt he owed it to him.
As Hawke dismounted in front of the house, a servant hurried to take the reins of his horse. At almost the same time, Pamela came out onto the porch.
“Hawke!” she called happily. “You’re back!”
“And all in one piece, as you can see,” Hawke replied.
“Come in, come in, Father will be so pleased to see you.”
“Thanks.”
Pamela met him halfway down the front steps. Putting her arm through his, she walked back up to the porch with him. She called to her father as they stepped into the foyer, and Dorchester came from his study to greet them.
“Well, Hawke, my good man, how was your trip?” Dorchester asked. Seeing his valet, he called out to him, “Mr. Wilson, do bring tea and biscuits to the drawing room, would you?” He glanced over at Hawke. “Or would you rather have coffee?”
“Tea will be fine.”
“Then tea it is, Mr. Wilson.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Dorchester,” Wilson replied.
In the study, the three sat in big leather chairs and, as before, Pamela prepared cigars for the two men.
“Thank you,” Hawke said, accepting the cigar. He puffed as Pamela held a match to the end. She lit her father’s cigar as well, and by the time they were surrounded by an aromatic cloud of smoke, Wilson entered, carrying a silver tray with a silver pot of steeping tea, three cups, and a plate of cookies.
“When will you be going back?” Dorchester asked, picking up one of the cookies.
“I beg your pardon?”
“To Chicago. You will be making another trip, won’t you?”
“Uh, no,” Hawke said. “I was fired.”
“You were fired? Why, that’s absurd! You play the piano more beautifully than anyone I’ve ever heard. Why would Union Pacific fire you?”
Hawke told the story of the drunken and disruptive cowboy, ending with what happened to him. To his surprise, Dorchester laughed.
“You threw him from the train?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, it was very rash of me, I admit. But at the time, it just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Dorchester continued laughing, and he laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes.
“No, no, dear boy, do not apologize,” he said, waving his finger back and forth. “How often I have wanted to do something exactly like that. Unfortunately, my very proper British upbringing has prevented me from giving in to those urges. But disabuse yourself of any idea that I can’t take vicarious pleasure from someone else doing it.”
“Yes, well, it did get me fired from the Union Pacific job,” Hawke said. “And since you went out of your way to locate the job, I felt that I owed you an apology.”
“Nonsense, my good man, you owe me nothing of the sort. As I say, I am deriving a great deal of pleasure from imagining the look on that boor’s face as he found himself flying from the cars.”
“So, what will you be doing now?” Pamela asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“I hope you don’t decide to play the piano at the Royal Flush,” Dorchester said. “Their piano is so bad it would be a sin for someone with your talent to even try to play it. I’ve heard better music from rattling harness chain.”
Hawke laughed. “That’s a pretty good description of the piano, all right.”
“And their piano player. Unless…good heavens, you
“No, I’m not working there.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“Father, why don’t you ask Hawke to work for us?” Pamela said.
“Hello, that is a marvelous idea!” Dorchester said. “It has nothing to do with the piano, I’m afraid, but would you consider working for us?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t think I would make much of a cowboy. I never was much of a farmer either, and I was raised on a farm.”
“Well, actually, you wouldn’t have to be a cowboy, as such,” Dorchester said. “I would use you in more of a supervisory role.”
“As foreman of the ranch,” Pamela clarified.
“What about the foreman you have now?” Hawke asked. “How do you think that would sit with him?”
“Oh, that fellow wouldn’t even know it,” Dorchester said. “He left the ranch right after he heard that gold had been discovered up at South Pass. And, remember, as foreman, all the manual labor would be supplied by the hands who are under you.”
“It is a tempting proposition,” Hawke admitted.
Someone knocked on the door of the study, and Dorchester looked toward the door. A slim, gangly-looking cowboy stood there, holding his hat in his hand.
“Yes, Willie, what is it?” Dorchester asked.
“It’s about the water in Sugar Creek,”
“Oh? What about the water in Sugar Creek?”
“There ain’t none,” Willie said stoically.
As Hawke, Dorchester, Pamela, and Willie rode toward Sugar Creek, Dorchester took delight in talking about his ranch.
“The first four years I was here, I was beginning to think that I had lost my mind in even contemplating a
