Margaret Brownley (18 page)

Where’s your home, Mr. McGuire?”

“I was born and raised in Edinburgh, but my home is now in Chicago. The reason Ah’m here, Lassie. Logan said ye were going back ta Boston.”

“That’s right. As soon as the baby is old enough to travel and the weather clears.”

“Me and the boys don’t want to see ya go. A lassie and bairn adds a homey touch to the town.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Oh, I wasn’t saying it ta be kind. I’m saying it ‘cause it’s true. Only last night Ah walked past ya cabin and heard ya young’un cry. It reminded me of my own family.” His face grew wistful. “I can’t tell ya how much Ah miss my good wife and bairns.”

Sympathizing, she tried to think of something to say to cheer him. “Tell me about your children.”

“Ah have two of them. A lad and lassie. Three and five years old. ‘Course we had two more, but they got this fever and…”

“How awful for you.”

“Yes, well. Like Ah said, Ah sure do miss my family. Ah was hoping ta find enough gold and return by now. It’s not working quite like Ah hoped.”

“You haven’t found any gold?”

“Ah found gold all right. But it cost a man a lot ta live. Look at this.” He held up a foot. “Ah paid twelve dollars for these boots. Back home my family could live an entire month on twelve dollars.”

“I know. I was shocked at the prices myself. I hope it works out for you soon.”

“Ah hope so too. But meanwhile, Lassie, Ah hope ya’ll reconsider and stay. It would mean a lot ta me and the boys.”

Libby hated having to disappoint him. “It’s very nice of you to want me to stay…But I’m sure you must understand that Deadman’s Gulch is not the kind of place that one wishes to raise a child.”

“Ah can’t argue with that, but since ya’ve been here the town has improved one hundred percent. Why the boys actually enjoy having a reason ta get themselves all gussied up.”

“That’s very considerate of them, Mr. McGuire, but I’m sure that having children of your own you understand that I must put Noel’s needs first. There are no schools here, no churches. Why a person could get shot just walking down the street.”

She then described the events of that cold December night when she first arrived in town.

Mr. McGuire looked positively aghast. “That’s terrible!”

“Indeed it is,” Libby said. “I could have been killed.”

“Or worse!” he exclaimed. He didn’t explain what could be worse and Libby had no intention of asking him.

“So, you see, I really have no choice.”

. “Ah weren’t suggesting ya stay indefinitely. Only for awhile. You’re a good influence on the men, and I’m not just saying that ta hear myself talk. I hardly recognize some of them with their beards all trimmed and their clothes washed. The best thing of all is that ya have a calming effect on them.”

“I have noticed less…rowdiness,” she said.  “But you have to understand that Noel and I are imposing upon Mr. St. John’s kind hospitality.

“Do ya think so? I mean, Ah’ve never heard him complain, except ta say he didn’t get much sleep.”

“He has been extremely patient. But it’s obvious to me he would prefer to have his privacy back. He’s not used to being around people much.”

“It takes some getting’ used to, that’s for sure, having a bairn around.”

“Yes, and another thing.” She blushed. “It’s rather a delicate matter.”

“Ah’ve discussed a few delicate matters in my life,” he assured her. “One can hardly father two bairns without touching upon a delicate matter.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Libby said. “It doesn’t seem proper for me to be sharing quarters with a man who’s not my husband.”

“Ah see what ya mean.”

“Not that anything improper has happened,” she assured him. “Why, Mr. St. John has been a perfect gentleman.”

“Ah should hope so!” Mr. McGuire declared, but he looked rather skeptical, as if he couldn't imagine Logan behaving himself in the presence of a woman. “’Course it helps that you’re a lady.”

“I suppose so. But now that I have Noel to think about, it’s essential that I consider my reputation.”

“Absolutely.” He stood. “Ah better be going. Ah’m glad we had this gab.”

“I am too,” Libby said. “Thank you for coming, Mr. McGuire.

“Ah’d feel a whole lot better if ya’d call me Duncan.”

“Very well. Duncan it shall be.”

*****

Logan was convinced that once everyone had paid proper respects to the baby, things would return to normal. He was so confident of this he was astonished to discover the saloon empty that Friday night when he walked in, primed for a night of poker.

Thinking the men had gathered somewhere else, he walked in and out of each of the other saloons. They were all empty, except for one, where he found Cast-Iron Peters huddled over a drink.

“Where is everyone?” Logan demanded.

Cast-Iron stared into his glass. “At McGuire’s place. Some sort of meeting.”

Logan frowned. “Now’s not the time to be having a meeting. It’s time to play cards. What’s the meeting about?”

“Search me,” Cast-Iron said. “Something about your woman.”

“Libby?” Puzzled, Logan walked stiff-legged out of the saloon and across the street toward McGuire’s cabin. If a meeting was being held about his wo…uh, Libby, then he meant to make it his business to find out what it was about.

The place was packed. Several men were huddled by the open door, craning their necks up and down to see inside. A few men were gathered around the single window cut in the sidewall and covered in canvas. One man stood on the roof, his ear against the chimney.

Logan shouldered his way through the crowd to the door. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

Duncan McGuire, who was giving a speech from atop a wooden box, stopped midsentence and glared at Logan. From all outward appearances, he was addressing the crowd with the same earnestness of a politician during a tight race. It was obvious he did not take kindly to being interrupted.

“Ya lassie is getting’ ready ta leave Deadman’s Gulch and we’re trying to figure out a way ta make her stay.”

Logan was taken aback. He knew she was planning to leave of course, but he hadn’t realized her departure was imminent. “Libby is leaving?”

Big Sam glanced back over his shoulder. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know she was leaving so soon. Noel’s too young to travel.”

“But she’s leaving soon enough and that’s what me and the boys are trying ta prevent,” McGuire said. “When she hears our plans, she may well change her mind.”

Logan dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “There’s nothing that you can come up with to make her change her mind. She hates it here.”

The Scotsman remained undaunted. “We’re gonna ta change all that. Right men?”

The crowd shouted, “Right!”

McGuire turned to Choo-Choo, sitting next to him keeping notes. “Choo-Choo, would ya read Logan our town proclamation?”

Logan stared at him. Proclamation? The town has a proclamation?

Looking important, Choo-Choo stood, cleared his voice, and read from his notebook. “It is hereby decided that the city of Deadman’s Gulch will have itself respectable laws.”

McGuire nodded in approval. “Did ya hear that, Logan? Respectable.” Turning back to Choo-Choo he waggled a finger. “Go on.”

“From here on in, altercations must be confined to outside the town.”

“Altercations mean fights,” McGuire explained to Logan. “Neither the flying of bullets nor fists will be allowed ta ruffle one hair of that little bairn’s head.” Pleased with himself, he pointed to Choo-Choo’s notes. “Write that down. Neither bullets…that’s right…Nor fists…bairn’s head.”

Choo-Choo finished writing and then continued to read. “It was further decided that from now on the citizens of Deadman’s Gulch will adhere to a curfew.”

Logan cringed. “What sort of curfew?”

“Now don’t go getting all riled up. This is for the sake of the bairn. The boys and Ah were thinking that ten o’clock seems pretty respectable.”

“Ten o’clock!” Logan glanced around the room. “Have you all gone loco? Do you have any idea what kind of hours that baby keeps? I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since he was born.”

McGuire addressed his comments to the crowd at large. “What did Ah tell ya? We’ve been making too much racket. That’s why the little laddie can’t sleep.” He turned back to Logan. “You watch, with a proper curfew, we’ll all sleep like babies.”

“I sincerely hope not!” Logan grumbled. “I hate to think of grown men waking up every two hours and demanding to have their breeches changed.”

Everyone began talking at once. McGuire banged two pots together. “Order. Order. That means quiet everyone. That’s better. Now we’ll discuss living arrangements for the lassie and bairn.”

Logan had heard just about enough of this foolishness. He walked to the front of the room and planted himself next to the Scotsman. “You can make all the curfew rules you want. But it isn’t going to make one bit of difference to Libby.”

The debate continued for the better part of the next hour. But no matter what Logan said, the men had made up their minds.

“From here on in,” McGuire announced, “that little fella is gonna have a proper town to grow up in.”

“Deadman’s Gulch can be as proper as it wants,” Logan argued back. “I’m telling you, Libby’s mind is made up. As soon as the stage resumes running, she and the baby will be on it and there’s nothing you can say to change her mind.”

“We’ll see about that,” Beaker shouted. “Won’t we, boys?”

“You said it, Beaker!”

“Hear, hear!”

No question about it; the town was, as Jim Bridger would say, crazy as a bedbug.

Logan was convinced of this the following morning when he was rudely awakened out of a sound sleep by hammering. He lay on the floor in front of a dying fire and peered through squinty eyes.

Noel had been awake pretty much all night and Logan and Libby had taken turns walking the floor with him. It had been close to dawn by the time the little fellow had finally nodded off. Logan had just drifted off to sleep himself when the loud hammering nearly blasted him out of his bedroll.

Drat, now what? He fought his way out of bed and tiptoed past the baby’s cradle to the front door. Astonishingly enough, the ruckus had awakened neither Noel nor his mother.

Dressed in red woolen long johns he slipped out the door and closed it softly behind him. He stood on the porch rubbing his eyes in disbelief, and stared at the crowd gathered in front.

The canvas lean-to that had littered the lot across from his had disappeared sometime during the night. In its place stood a wood-framed skeleton of a house.

Despite the early hour, it appeared that every miner in town was gathered on the spot. Some were heaving logs across the snow with the help of thick-flanked mules. Others were hammering or sawing. Most were standing around a large bonfire issuing orders or drinking coffee out of steaming tin cups.

Logan limped across the street, oblivious to the fact that in his red long johns he stood out likes a polecat at a picnic. “What in blazes is going on here?” he demanded, addressing no one in particular.

McGuire, who was bent over some rough drawings, straightened and lifted a hand in greeting. “Morning, St. John.” He patted the framework. “Wouldn’t you say this is gonna be a mighty fine house?”

“The very best,” Sharkey said. “Look a’ here. This here is gonna be the first glass window in town.”

Not to be outdone, Big Sam pointed to the opposite wall. “And over there will be a fine stone fireplace.”

“This is all very interesting,” Logan said. “But why are you going to all this trouble?”

“It’s no trouble,” McGuire assured him. “When the lassie and Noel see their new house…”

“What did you say?” Logan stared at the men. “You’re building this for Libby?”

“With our very own hands.”

Logan threw back his head and laughed. “Have you men gone loco? It was only a short time ago that the bunch of you couldn’t be in the same room together without coming to blows. Do you actually believe you’re going to build a house together?”

“That we do,” McGuire said, looking offended. “That we do.”

Logan shook his head. “This I’ve got to see.” He never heard of such a foolish notion, but convinced that the men would soon get into a fight and call the whole thing off—or better yet kill each other—he limped back to the cabin. He meant to get some shut-eye and he pitied anyone who dared interfere!

No sooner had he slipped back between the folds of his bedroll when Noel let out an ear-piercing cry.

*****

Logan longed for some good old-fashioned peace and quiet, but what he got was constant noise. Noel’s loud lusty cries filled the hours between bedtime and dawn, at which time the hammering and sawing began and continued throughout the day until it was time for Noel’s lungs to take over the night shift again. Logan couldn’t believe it. Twenty-four hours a day of nonstop uproar.