Ralph Compton - Bluff City

“A few.”

“That tiny bump on your nose. Broken once?”

“Twice,” Clay said, shifting in his chair.

“And that is all you have to show for it? You were lucky.”

Clay Adams smiled wryly. “The luckiest man alive, I reckon.”

“They lend character. Yours makes you appear a little tough yourself,” Melanie said. “Maybe it will help protect you from the real toughs, the troublemakers who pick fights for the fun of it.”

Clay was about to respond when spurs jingled and an odd apparition appeared beside their table. The man had a pasty complexion, no chin to speak of, and large, watery eyes. A slouch hat crowned his protruding forehead. He wore a brown vest, and on his right hip was a Starr revolver.

“Deputy Wiggins,” Melanie said.

Clay stared at the badge pinned to the vest. His fingers tightened on his spoon.

“How do you do, Miss Stanley,” Deputy Wiggins said in a high voice that did not fit his plump build. “I was passing by and saw you through the window.”

“Forgotten your manners, have you?”

Wiggins appeared confused, then snatched the slouch hat from his head, revealing a bald pate, except for a ring of crinkly, rust-colored hair that ran from ear to ear. “Sorry. It has been a long day and I’m tired.” His watery eyes switched to Clay. “Who is this you’re with?”

“Mr. Adams works at the paper.”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Deputy Wiggins said.

Melanie smiled sweetly. “Was there something you wanted? Or do you make a habit out of interrupting a lady’s meal?”

“If you are referring to the flapjack house yesterday, I just happened to be there.”

Her smile still in place, Melanie said, “That must explain the other nineteen or twenty times. Would you care to join us?”

“No, thank you. I must report in. The Stark gang has struck again.”

Melanie half rose and waved an arm to get the waiter’s attention. “We need another chair here.” To Wiggins she said, “You are not going anywhere until you give me the details.”

The waiter brought a chair and set it between Clay and Melanie. Deputy Wiggins slid it closer to Melanie and plopped down. Setting his hat on the table, he shifted so he faced her.

“I can never refuse you. What is it you want to know?”

“Everything.” Melanie had taken a pencil and pad from her bag and had the pencil poised to write.

“Well, let me see. Four days ago the Stark gang hit Calamity. Rode in whooping and firing their guns in the air and rounded up—”

“Is Calamity a town?” Clay broke in.

Deputy Wiggins gave him the sort of look that implied his question was not appreciated. “Calamity is one of about fifty mining camps higher up in the mountains. A collection of tents, mostly. Got its name last winter when a couple of prospectors were caught in an avalanche.”

“What was worth stealing?” Clay asked.

“Not a whole lot. Oh, a few of the prospectors have made strikes. But piddling finds compared to Bluff City.”

“Then why was Jesse Stark there?”

“Money. What else? He rounded up the prospectors and made them empty their pockets.”

“Hardly sounds like it was worth his while,” Clay said.

“Who is telling this? You or me?” Deputy Wiggins demanded. He grinned at Melanie. “There’s more. It seems Harve Barker opened a saloon there just last week and—”

“Who is Harve Barker?” Clay asked.

Wiggins let out with an exaggerated sigh. “Keep interrupting me and there will be the devil to pay.”

Melanie laughed. “You must excuse his curiosity. He is new to Bluff City.” She turned toward Clay. “Barker owns the Bluff City Emporium, the largest and most luxurious saloon in town. He has also set up saloon tents in about half the mining camps. He is well on his way to becoming one of the wealthiest men in the territory.”

“I’ve noticed he is rather fond of you,” Deputy Wiggins said.

“Barker is fond of anything in skirts.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. It is unbecoming.”

“Go on with your account,” Melanie said.

“There is not much left. Stark robbed Barker’s saloon tent in Calamity. The bartender lost a few teeth when he objected and Stark pistol-whipped him.”

Clay Adams raised a hand to his face, but quickly lowered it again. “So how much did Stark end up with?”

“Two thousand, maybe,” Deputy Wiggins said.

“Not much for a greedy slug like him,” Melanie commented. “Rather brazen, to raid an entire camp. But then, he is becoming more and more bold as time goes by.”

“That he is,” Deputy Wiggins agreed. “But this time he might have overstepped himself. If I know Harve Barker, he won’t take being robbed lying down. He’s not the turn-the-other-cheek type.”

“So you were up to Calamity?” Melanie asked.

Wiggins nodded. “I tried tracking the outlaws. But that Jesse Stark is crafty. I lost the trail on a rocky point above the tree line.” The deputy gazed out the window, then stood. “I had better be going. You know how Vale is always riding me about dawdling.”

“I understand,” Melanie said.

The deputy jammed his slouch hat on his head, looked down his nose at Clay and beamed at her. “It was a pleasure, as always. Maybe you and I can go to the theater later this week. That play you like is still being put on.”

“Maybe.”

Clay watched the plump lawman hurry from the premises. “I half expected him to shoot me.”

Melanie grinned. “He’s fond of me, no doubt about it. I suppose I don’t discourage him because he is one of my best sources.”

“You are using him?”

The grin was replaced by a frown. “You make that sound like an accusation. But yes, I am. I justify it by my gender.”

“You’ve lost me,” Clay Adams said.

“Only because you aren’t female. If you were, you would appreciate how hard it is for a woman to make it on her own in a world ruled by men. It is twice as difficult for me because I am a woman. But I refuse to let that hinder me. I am educated and independent and proud of it. And yes, before you ask, I’m also a suffragist.”

“I don’t see any reason women can’t have the vote,” Clay said earnestly. “As for the rest, my own ma had a hard time of it after my pa died because jobs for women are so few. She worked as a seamstress, but she barely earned enough for us to get by.”

“Where is she now?” Melanie inquired.

“She died when I was twelve, thank God. If she had been alive to see what I became, it would have broken her heart.”

“What a strange thing to say. What were you before you showed up in Bluff City? A patent medicine salesman?”

Clay bent over the baked beans.

“Let me guess,” Melanie bantered. “You were a highwayman. Or, better yet, you rode with Jesse Stark.” She laughed and, when he did not reply, she said with mock sternness, “You better tell me or I am liable to think you really were a badman.”

Clay said slowly, “It’s just that I never made as much of myself as my ma would have liked.”

“What son or daughter ever does? My father wanted me to marry and raise a passel of grandchildren. He was furious when I decided to work for Uncle Jerome.” Melanie hesitated. “As for you, I should think your mother would be proud. You are a fine, upstanding, handsome young man.”

Clay recoiled as if she had slapped him.

“What’s wrong?” Melanie was bewildered by his reaction.

“You just called me handsome.”

“Was I being too forward?”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Clay gazed at the window, at his reflection. He reached out as if to touch it, then drew his hand back. “No one has ever called me that before. It will take some getting used to.”