Charles West - Lawless Prairie

She paused inside the kitchen door to judge the progress of supper. “Corrina, are you about ready to put it on the table?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the cook replied. “You can go ahead and ring the bell if you want to. I’m fixin’ to carry it in now.”

Maggie took a tiny dinner bell from the cupboard, and walking to the hallway, rang it several times. She then stood at the foot of the stairs and waited until she heard doors opening and boots in the upstairs hallway before returning the bell to its place in the cupboard.

Standing now at the corner of the long dining room table, Maggie greeted her guests as they filed in. “Mr. Smith, Mr. Johnson,” she said cheerfully as Ballenger and Yancey pulled chairs away from the table and seated themselves. Not waiting for an invitation to start, both men dived right into the vittles, spooning out platefuls of everything on the table. Corrina, just setting a platter stacked with biscuits on the table, jumped back startled when Yancey used his fork to spear one of the biscuits before the platter was seated.

“Look out, there, missy,” Ballenger chortled, “you’ll lose a finger or two.” He looked at Maggie and grinned. “Ol’ Pete’s been livin’ in the woods too long. We ain’t et in such fine trappin’s as these for a long spell.” Yancey merely grunted, more intent upon his plate.

Maggie answered his comments with a smile as she sat down at the head of the table. Watching the only two guests in the house attack Corrina’s steak and gravy, she began to doubt the potential for her long-term salvation. On the other hand , she thought while watching Ballenger chewing on a slab of steak held before him on his fork, if he’s rich, he could meet with an early demise , just as her late husband. Inwardly she shuddered when she thought, It might be a really rough honeymoon. Displaying a smile for him, she thought, Oh well, you do what must be done.

“How long will you be staying with us, Mr. Smith?” Maggie asked.

Yancey glanced up from his plate long enough to say, “We don’t know—depends on things.”

Maggie seemed confused. “I thought you were Mr. Johnson,” she said.

“Oh . . . well, I am,” Yancey replied, caught in the mistake. “Mr. Smith, there, was busy eatin’ and I taught him not to talk with his mouth full.” Both men roared with laughter at the joke.

Maggie’s hopes for future planning drained quickly away as the supper progressed. The rough exteriors should have been warning enough that the two were no more than outlaws, and most likely came by their wealth dishonestly. Now she wished she had not gone to the trouble to put on her best dress to impress these two swine. However, she could still show a profit on the two before they decided to leave town.

His appetite sated, Clell pushed back a little from the table while he sipped another cup of coffee. “That little saloon we passed on the way in here, can a man get into a little card game there?”

“I expect so,” Maggie replied. “There’s men gambling there most every night.”

“And maybe get a little somethin’ else?” Ballenger continued, his grin indication enough of what he referred to.

She favored him with a knowing smile. “That depends on how much you can afford. You might be able to get somethin’ extra somewhere else if the price is right.”

“Like here?” Ballenger asked, enjoying the repartee.

“For the right price,” Maggie replied.

“How much would that be?”

“Fifty dollars.”

“Fifty dollars!” he exclaimed, then looked at Yancey. “Fifty dollars she says.” Back at Maggie, he said, “I ain’t ever heard of no whore chargin’ that much. You must think a helluva lot of yourself.”

“I ain’t a whore, so it’ll cost you more,” she responded, looking him straight in the eye. “And I ain’t never had a complaint.”

“Is that so?” Clell replied. “Hell, as much as we paid for the rooms, that oughta be included.”

“Well, it ain’t,” Maggie retorted. “If you wanna spend time with a lady, you’ll have to pay for it. Otherwise, you can go see one of those hogs that hang around the saloon.”

Ballenger chuckled gleefully, fully entertained by the madam’s attitude. “Well, darlin’,” he said, “I’ve got the money to buy ten like you. I’ll just try you out tonight to see if you’re worth fifty dollars.” He glanced over at Yancey, who was still stuffing his mouth with biscuits. “How ’bout it, Mr. Johnson, you interested in a go-round with this prairie flower?”

Before Yancey could answer, Maggie interjected, “I don’t do doubles. Mr. Johnson can talk to Corrina if he wants to.” Yancey shrugged indifferently and continued eating.

Her remark caused Ballenger to chuckle again. “All right, Your Highness, we’ve got a deal.”

“After you take a bath we’ll have a deal,” Maggie replied. “There’s a tub in the washhouse. Corrina can heat some water for you.”

“Wait a minute,” Clell protested. “Ain’t nothin’ been said about no bath.”

“That’s my rule,” she insisted. “Don’t come to me smellin’ like the stable.” She felt it necessary to have some measure of control over the obviously rowdy scoundrel; otherwise, she might be the victim of a bruising rough and tumble. If he totally balked at the bath stipulation, she would probably do it, anyway, because she needed the extra fifty badly. She was greatly relieved, however, when he laughingly agreed to terms.

“What the hell?” he roared. “I reckon I can stand up to a bath this late in the season.”

Intrigued by the idea of a tryst with a rich man’s prostitute, Ballenger presented himself to the washroom where Corrina was busily filling a huge wooden tub with water heated on the stove. Yancey accompanied him, not as a participator, but merely a spectator, his gaze constantly upon the half-breed woman as she came back and forth with her bucket. When the tub was filled, she dropped a washcloth and a bar of soap in the water and left the room saying, “Holler when you need rinsin’.”

“Ain’t you gonna scrub my back?” Ballenger joked.

“Let him do it,” the stoic cook replied as she closed the door.

Enjoying the novelty of it, Ballenger used the soap and cloth to scrape away some of the layers of trail dust and grit. Yancey watched and made warning comments about the dangers of too much bathing and its potential for weakening a man’s constitution. Ballenger just laughed at his partner’s concerns, convinced that he was strong enough to stand up to any amount of soaking. “Hell, most women do it two or three times a month,” he allowed, “and it don’t appear to hurt them none.”

When he was ready, he called for Corrina and she carried in a couple of large buckets of clean water to rinse him. He stood proudly in the tub while she stood on a stool and poured the water over him. “Now, don’t you be jealous of your mistress, girl,” he teased, receiving nothing more than a bored grunt in reply. Dried and in a clean robe supplied by Corrina, he was ready to proceed to the madam’s bedroom when the maid doused him with some scented water. “What the hell did you do that for?” Clell demanded. “I just took a bath.”

“Miss Maggie likes it,” was the simple reply.

Shaking his head, hardly believing his partner’s willingness to subject himself so blatantly, Yancey remained in the washroom, purportedly to help Corrina empty the large tub. After the water was emptied, he transacted a contract with the stoic maid that was executed right there in the washroom for a sum considerably less than his partner paid for the royal treatment. Following a short period of quick spasms resembling the mating of a pair of rabbits, he walked away satisfied and content to await his partner.