Don't Poke the Bear!

Chapter 13

A WEEK PASSES, with no news about the war. Wing Ding and I finally finish buildin' the jail hole, and now I'm almost hopin' someone acts up tonight, so I can try it out. About eight p.m., a man comes by the saloon and says he's recruitin' men under thirty years of age who know how to shoot.

"There's a rumor President Lincoln is going to be kidnapped and killed," he says. "I'm working with Senator James H. Lane to recruit some Kansas patriots to move into the White House and protect the President from his enemies."

"How long would we have to be there?" one man asks.

"No more than a month," he says.

"What's it pay?"

"Pay? You'd accept pay to protect the President?"

"I would," he says.

"I would, too," another man says.

"I'm keen to help," a third young man says, "but I'm needed at home, unless there be pay."

The recruiter sighs and gives up and heads for the next saloon. I can't for the life of me figure out why the President can't find some young men closer than Kansas to protect him from his enemies.

A couple hours later, a young man gets up from a card table after losin' his money, takes two steps, and faints. I rush over to him and splash some water in his face, and ask, "When's the last time you ate somethin'?"

"Two days ago."

I recognize him as the young man who said he was needed at home if he couldn't be paid to guard the President. I help him back to the kitchen, where Emma Nickel's doin' the cookin' tonight. We don't have a regular cook, so the whores take turns. None of 'em are any good, but Emma's the worst. Still, some food is better than none, and since this young customer has lost all his money, I tell Emma to fill him up.

The young man is about three inches shy of six feet, maybe twenty-two years of age, with a handlebar mustache that makes his baby face look silly. But Emma likes what she sees, and begins puttin' a flirt on him that renders her virtually useless as far as keepin' up with the food orders goes. For his part, the young man appears to find Emma distasteful, and tries his best to ignore her advances.

The first thing you notice about Emma is when she speaks, she fondles her breasts without realizin' it. While that makes her quite popular among the whore house customers, it's distractin' to the card players. Also, she's got six fingers on one hand, four on the other. Emma whored in Rolla, Missouri, at Lick and Casey's Dance Hall, down the street from where Gentry used to whore. She made the trip with us to Dodge a few months back. When I bought the Spur and decided to run whores, we offered Emma a spot, for old time's sake. She's enthusiastic in bed, regardless of who the customer might be, which is as good a quality as any whore can have. But when I hear her offerin' this hungry man an apple bob, I decide to come to his rescue.

"Emma, you're fallin' way behind on the supper orders," I say.

"I need help, Emmett. It's too busy tonight."

I call Hester down to help.

"No fair! I cooked for six hours last night!" she whines.

"Sounds like you need a cook," the kid says.

"Don't suppose you want the job?"

"Nope. But thanks."

"What's your name, son?"

He starts to speak, pauses, then says, "William Clarke."

The way he paused before answerin' makes me wonder if he's still feelin' fainty.