Fletcher scowled at Hale over one shoulder. “Twenty dollars then. How’s that suit you, young man?”
“Sounds fair,” Colton said, and they shook hands.
“Good…good,” Fletcher said. “The rest of the men are staying at the hotel. You can move in tonight. Now, I’ve got to find the crook who rented this leaky shack to me. I plan on negotiating a better rate.”
“He’ll be at the Trail’s End Saloon,” Jim called after him.
“You’ll tell Ma and Pa goodbye for me?” Colton asked.
“I will,” Jim said, and they shook hands. “I’ll take your horse home and tell your sisters, too. Walt and Alma will surely miss you.”
“I’ve never been off on my own before,” Colton said sheepishly.
“I meant what I said. You’ll do well for Fletcher.”
“I hope so,” Colton said. “I’ll see you in a few months, then.”
He went down toward the hotel, leaving Hale and Jim alone.
Hale watched him go. “You sure you don’t want that job? We could always use another steady man.”
“Too much here to do,” Jim said.
“I’ll watch after the young fellow then,” Hale said. He took out a gold eagle and tossed it to Jim.
“What’s this for?”
“You two worked hard today when you could’ve just passed by.”
“I got Colton a job out of it.”
“Doesn’t cover all the work you did for us.”
“Us?”
“We’re partners, Fletcher and I. Half this venture is mine.”
“I had no idea,” Jim said.
Hale shrugged. “It suits me to let him do all the talking. He’s good at it and I like being behind the scenes.”
“Thanks.” Jim pocketed the coin and went to the general store to see if Ellen had been as lucky as he and Colton.
Chapter 4
Ellen took a breath, steeled herself, and marched into Onionville General Store.
She’d been here before, almost a dozen times in fact, and she knew the owner, Sam Waters, and his wife, Jenny. They were both good, no-nonsense people. Honest and fair. Tough. Like all the travelers who’d come over the great trail and “seen the elephant,” as Jim was apt to say.
Given the flooding on the town’s lower third, the store was just as she expected. Bustling busy, everyone buying canvas and tar, hoping to pitch some sort of dry shelter for their goods and families.
Sam stood behind a long counter, scratching out orders as fast as he could manage. When one was done, he passed the paper to a waiting man, who scrambled to put the parcels together. Quick as the waiting man was gone, another replaced him and Sam passed on another paper. That was new. Usually, Jenny took down the orders and Sam filled them.
Evidently, Sam’s hired some extra help already.
Ellen stood on tiptoe but couldn’t hope to see over the crowd. And she certainly wasn’t going to push her way through. Another, smaller group was at the back of the store, gathered near the canned goods.
Deciding she might have more luck there, Ellen made her way through. Men jostled her, most apologizing, some ignoring her completely, and a rare few giving her a hard glance. Up close, she could hear Jenny from the smaller crowd’s heart.
“We have plenty of food, folks, there’s no need to panic and no point in crowding us.”
Voices rose all around, so many Ellen couldn’t understand any of them.
“None of that, now. Form a line and we’ll get you all through.”
Men and more than a few women shuffled their feet, but none formed a line. Ellen smiled. What had Jenny been thinking?
Westerners are nothing if not a stubborn breed.
Jenny’s voice rose over the crowd. “I’m not waiting on a single one of you until I have a nice, orderly line. Clay Pool, that means you.”
“Me?”
Ellen recognized Clay. He had a wife, Grace, and three children living in a house right down on the river. It would surely be flooded now.
“Yes you,” Jenny said. “The line starts with you. Everybody else gets in line behind Clay. He’s the man in the funny gray hat.”
“What’s wrong with my hat?” Clay said, and the crowd laughed. Everyone knew Clay set store by his hat, an awful, narrow-brimmed thing battered into a lumpy gray shape that resembled a dead bird more than anything else.
