Arabella

Chapter One

It had been fifteen years since the end of the great war between the north and south. I had fought along side my Pa and my brothers in the victorious fight against the rebels. After the fighting was done, I went back home for a year or so, but found that I liked the adventure of traveling and gambling. This led me to St. Louis, Missouri. I took a job as a security officer with a river boat gambling company. I was well suited for the job. I'm a large man at six feet five inches and right near two hundred and fifty pounds. The battles in the war had left my face with a scar from my ear to my chin on the right side. Not many men liked me. Most feared me. The women avoided me.

I had been in St. Louis for nearly two years when I became restless. I got that way sometimes. I had heard of the gold and silver mines in California and thought I would try my hand at getting rich. So, after collecting my pay, I told the boss man I was leaving and I never looked back. I headed out at first light, stopping at the general store to get supplies for the journey. A new canteen, chewing tobacco and some jerky. My horse, a steady Morgan named Runt, had new shoes and a full belly. We were ready. Although for what, we didn't know. The early September air was cool, but not cold. I knew that would change as I neared the Great Rockies I was prepared. My pack had my winter gear, my Winchester and my life savings and Runt had an extra set of shoes and a warm blanket. I always carried extra shoes for him. His hooves were twice the size of a regular horse and it was hard to find a smithy who could make them right. I used to have a smaller horse, but he tired quickly. I figured it was mostly because of my size.

I had been on the trail for three days when I hit Kansas City. Although it was sunny and warm now, I had just traveled through two days of a cool rain. It was mid afternoon as I rode into town. I watched as the children ran around but mostly ran away as I rode up the main street. I watched as the women hurried them inside their houses and closed the doors. The people on the street gave me wide berth. Women scurried into businesses and the men rested their hands on their pistols. It was almost like I was a gunfighter. I had killed my share of men, but only in my battles in '64 and '65. Runt felt tired so I set my eyes to look for the livery stable. I could usually tell when he had enough. His stride slowed and his back began to sway from side to side. Even this sturdy horse tired of me on his back. I had to admit that I too was tired and could use something besides the jerky I had bought in St. Louis.

I found the stables and tied Runt to the post out front. I heard the pounding of a hammer on steel coming from inside. As I walked in, I saw the smithy; a smallish man well less than 200 pounds, hammering a shoe into it's final form. He was wearing a leather apron over his dirty shirt. His shoes bore holes from the hot coals burning through them, I thought. In my normal deep voice, I yelled at the smithy over his pounding. "You got room for my horse for the night?" The smithy looked at me as if I had interrupted his sleep! Then as his eyes focused on me, his anger melted into a sheepish grin. "Um, yessir." The little man said as he sat his hammer on the floor. "That'll be two bits. Four if you want me to feed and groom him." "He's a Morgan. Any extra for him?" I asked. Most stables charged extra because he weighed almost double a normal horse. "No, that's OK." the smithy said. I reached for my pocket and pulled my change. Tossing him two quarters, I thanked him and turned to leave. "The saloon is right up the road. They have rooms there too if you need one." I tipped my hat as I walked out to grab my pack from Runt. The smithy stuck his head out the stable as I was throwing my saddle bag over my shoulder. "Damn, he's a beaut! What's his name?" he asked. "Runt." I said as I slung my pack over my shoulder. The smithy laughed. "I'll have him ready by sunup, Mister...." I glanced at him. "Jim...Jim Worrell. They call me Big Jim." I said. As the smithy slipped the reigns off the post, I heard him mutter, "No shit."

I walked up the muddy street, the result of the two days of rain I had been riding in. I caught a glimpse of the sign on the front of the building. "Arabella's Saloon and Hotel" looked like an old weathered building. The sign was hanging a bit lower on one side. As I walked up off the street, the wooden planks creaked and bent under my feet. I walked up to the double doors and peered into the saloon to see about 10 people inside. Four men were playing cards in the corner. I thought that I might get into the game after I settled in. The rest of the place was occupied by men sitting in groups of two or sitting alone. There were two men standing at the bar. The barkeep was at the far end, washing glasses. I swung the small doors open and just about every head turned to see me saunter in, my pack and saddlebags slung over my shoulders. The barkeep saw me but just kept on doing his chore. The place grew silent. I was used to this. It happened everywhere I went. I tried to ignore it but sometimes the silence was deafening. This was one of those times. I tossed my bags on the floor at the near end of the bar and tossed my hat on the top beside me. The barkeep staid his course and didn't move. He barely looked up when I called him. Defiant little cuss!

I raised my hand and slammed it on the bar. I watched as the other men at the bar picked up their glasses and walked further down the bar. One of the men, sitting alone at a table raised his hand to his six-shooter and rested it there. The barkeep sat down the glass he was drying, threw the towel over his shoulder and made his way toward me. He stopped about ten feet away. "That'll it be, Mister?" he asked. I heard his voice quake. I saw him glance down to the twin Colt's hanging from each of my hips. His throat moved as I saw him swallow nervously. "A beer and a room for the night." I said. He backed away and drew me a glass of a dark brew. I knew by the color it was going to be potent. I wondered how long he had been drawing from that barrel. He walked to me and sat the beer barely within my reach. "That'll be five cents for the beer and fifty for the room." he said, his voice still shaky. I reached for my pocket to fetch my change. The barkeep backed away slightly. "Fucking coward." I remember saying to myself. I threw two quarters on the bar in his direction. I lifted the glass and drank the beer down quickly. I slid the glass toward him. "Keep the nickel and gimme another one. I'll need the key too." I said. He retrieved my beer and grabbed a box from under the bar. Setting the beer down, he opened the box and pulled a small ledger out of the box along with the only key inside. "All we got left is room six. It's in the front and you got a good lock on the door. Nice view of the street too." he said, his voice steadying a bit. "Up the stairs, to the right, end of the hall on the left." he said. He handed me the ledger and I signed my name and he handed me the key. "You got a barber shop in this town?" I asked as the barkeep walked away with the box. He turned and pointed his thumb to the right. "Three doors down. Laundry is right across Main Street from there if you want to get cleaned up. They have a bath there too if you want to get the trail dust washed off."

I downed my beer, grabbed my pack and headed up the angular staircase. I reached the top and looked down the hallway. There were six doors. Another door with a window in it was at the end illuminating the path. The door was unlocked. The room was sparse. There were a bed, a mirrored table and a wash basin. A towel lay beside the empty basin. There was a handwritten sign on the mirror above the table. "If you need water, the well is out back." I looked out the window and saw steps leading from the door outside the room down to the back of the building. I tossed my pack on the floor at the foot of the bed. Drew my wallet from my saddlebag, grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a shirt and headed out the door. I decided to go down to the street by way of the door outside my room. I locked the door and slipped the key into my pocket. Heading down the street, I spied the Barber pole outside a small building right where the barkeep said it would be.

I walked through the door to see a small, balding man sweeping the floor. I laughed to myself at the irony of the barber going bald. He looked up, and by up, I mean way up. He must have been only 5 feet tall, but he was as big around as he was tall. His vest was open and his well-fed stomach overlapped his pants. A pair of red suspenders seemed barely able to keep his pants from being forced off his fat ass. He didn't seem afraid though. I admired his fortitude. "Ah, the last one of the day!" he said as he swung his chair around toward me. I sat in the chair as he asked me, "What'll it be stranger?" As I sat in the chair, I was still eye to eye with him. I wondered if he was going to be able to do a good job. "Shave and a haircut." I answered. He went to throw the towel around me when he noticed that I was still at eye level to him. "Damn, you're a biggun! He said. "Let me adjust the chair if you will." he said. I stood and he cranked the chair lower. I had never seen a chair do that before. "It's a newfangled chair I got from New York. Cost me nearly fifty dollars! Nice, huh?" he explained as he saw my reacion. "Pretty fancy." I said as I smiled and sat back down.

As he began cutting my hair, we talked. I told him of my plans of finding gold in California. He told me that he has talked to quite a few strangers in the past who was doing that very thing. I asked him why I was going to be his last customer. "Hey! It's Friday. I'm going to the saloon and watch the dancing girls. Maybe I'll get lucky!" he said. I laughed. I thought to myself that he had a snowball's chance in hell of doing that. "I always close up around four on Fridays. Most places around here do, especially when the dancing girls come over from Wichita to Arabella's place." I thought to myself that it might be entertaining to see them myself. He began shaving me and like all other barbers, he commented on how tough my beard was. "Tough man, a tough beard, I suppose." he said. "Myself, personally, it seems that the hair just falls out." he said. I looked at his balding scalp. "Yea, I noticed." He looked at me and started to laugh. I liked him. It was refreshing to meet a humble man. He finished and withdrew the towel from around me. I stood and admired his rather good work. "How much?" I asked. "Fifteen cents." he responded. I tossed him two bits and told him to keep the change. "You did a fine job." The barber grabbed his broom and quickly went about sweeping up my hair. He was right behind me as I walked out the door. "What time do the girls start?" I asked as he locked the door. "Half past five. Should I save you a seat?" he asked jovially. "There's usually only standing room at the bar when the girls are in town." he explained. "No, I'll take my chances, but thanks, um..." "Joe. Joe Schmidt." "Jim Worrell. Nice to meet you Joe." I said as I began to cross the street. A bath was starting to feel really good.

I entered the laundry right across from the barber shop. There was a very small Chinese man sitting in a chair right inside the door. "You need bath?" he said to me with a heavy accent. "How'd you know?" I asked. "Wear dirty clothes. Have clean in hand. Always like that when need bath." He explained. "You want I clean clothes. Bring to you in morning?" His broken English and high squeaky voice made me chuckle. "Yes, that will be fine." I said. How much for both?" I asked. "Want hot bath?" he asked. "Yes." "Ten cent. I bring clean clothes in morning. You at hotel?" I handed him a dime. "Yep. Room six." The Chinaman led le through the store to a curtained off area in the back corner of the room. He had a well tap right in the corner. He drew six large buckets from it and poured them into a big steel tub. From the other corner of the room, he had water boiling in the hearth. He dipped four buckets of the steaming water and poured it into the cold water he had already poured into the tub. "Take clothes off. Put outside curtain. I bring you in morning. Maybe six. That good?" "That's fine." I said as he closed the curtain around the tub. I tossed my clothes outside and got into the water. It felt good. A bit warm, but nothing I couldn't handle. I relaxed a few minutes before I began the job of cleaning my dirty skin.

As I dressed after the bath, I heard the Chinaman grabbing my clothes. I finished dressing and drew the curtain open. The man had already started washing my clothes. "Aren't you going to see the dancing girls?" I asked. Just as I said that, a Chinese woman emerged from the back of the store. "No, he not! He go home. Eat dinner. Go bed." she said sternly. The man looked at me and just shrugged his shoulders. I laughed. "You want me get cologne?" he asked. Never being the one to like that stuff, I declined. "OK. Six A.M., Room 6. I remember." I agreed and walked out of the store. Walking back across toward the hotel, now clean and groomed, I wondered if the girls would live up to the expectations the barber had went on about. I decided I would see if they would. I went back up the outside steps to my room and went in to leave my hat. Locking the door, I proceeded to the stairs that led to the bar. As I approached, I heard voices and clinking glasses. A piano was being played.

As I got to the turn in the staircase, I saw the bar was now packed with town folk. As I got about halfway down the second span of steps, I saw the majority of them looking toward me. Again, the place quieted although not totally this time. I walked past several men and a few women as I took my place at the end of the bar where I had stood when I first arrived. A second barkeep, this one not being as gun shy as the first, walked up to me right away. "What'll it be stranger?" "A bottle of your better whiskey." I said as I rested my elbow on the bar. "You want the whole bottle?" he asked. I turned to him sternly. He backed away and grabbed a bottle from under the bar. Setting it in front of me, he said "That'll be seventy-five cents, Mister." I chucked a silver dollar on the bar. "You want a glass?" he asked as he grabbed the coin. "Yea." I said as I pulled the cork and took a long gulp of the firewater. It didn't burn as bad as some I had drank, but it wasn't watered down either. The barkeep slid a glass next to the bottle and sat a quarter next to it. "Thanks," I said as he went about his job.

Chapter Two

I was on my second glass of whiskey, watching the different characters in the bar. Some were getting drunk and the night was just beginning. The same four men were still playing poker in the corner. A few were talking. Some looked at me while they were. I imagined that they were wondering who I was and if I was an outlaw. I got that a lot in a new town. I had even been accosted by different deputies and sheriffs along the way. And while I had never killed a man outside of war, I guessed that I looked like I did to many people. About fifteen minutes of this passed when I heard a clamor at the other side of the bar. "Arabella!" they yelled. I turned to see a woman slowly working her way down the steps. I could tell she was a 'sturdy' woman but I didn't mind. I actually preferred my women on the heavy side. When I finally saw her form emerge into view, I was struck stiff!

Arabella was indeed one of the most beautiful women I have ever laid eyes on. Her face, round and done in very little rouge, was aglow. Her hair, a wonderful auburn brown cascaded over her olive colored shoulders. Her bright red dress did nothing to hide the fact that she was very buxom. But I could see no signs of a corset. Her hips, wide and sturdy, flowed gently from her waist. Her nails were painted red. She wore black pointed boots. And even though she was not of normal size, she seemed to glide down the steps as if she were sliding. "Hi Boys!" she said as she got near the bottom step. Some of the men there clapped as she stepped onto the wooden floor. But soon they were right back to their regular revelry. The original barkeep stopped her as she neared the other end of the bar. I saw him and than her glance my way. Then she flat out stared at me. I feigned tipping my hat in her direction. She made no reaction. She began circulating amongst her clientele. She made her way to the piano player and he tinkled out a few chords. The men grew silent. "You men come for the dancing girls?" she yelled. The entire place erupted in catcalls and whistles. Arabella raised her hands and the place again quieted. "Well, Here they are!" she yelled. She swept her hand toward the stage to her left and the curtain opened. A group of six women, all in fluffy skirts, face paint and pointed shoes. They began kicking their legs high and turning and throwing up their dresses exposing their leggings beneath. I had seen much more scantily clad women on the river boats in St. Louis so this show was tame as compared to that. But the men in the saloon seemed to like the show. They were whistling and hooting up a storm as the women threw their skirts around with their hands as they twirled in a circle.

My attention was riveted on Arabella. She was making her way around the place. She stopped and talked with some of the men there. She seemed very friendly but looked as if she took no guff from them as well. She made her way toward me, stopping at the table where the men had not stopped their poker game even though the girls were performing. As she closed the distance between us, she looked directly in my eyes. She walked up beside me, saying nothing. Just as I was about to greet my host, she grabbed the glass from my hand and poured a glass of whiskey from the bottle and drank it down. I admired her fortitude. Not many would have dared thinking about doing that let alone actually doing it. I smiled at her. "Can I buy you a drink, Ma'am?" "It's a little late for that, wouldn't you say, stranger?" she said. Her voice was silky and flowed from her unpainted lips. Her dark eyes met mine. "The name's Jim, ma'am. Jim Worrell." I said. "Just passing through, Jim?" She said as she leaned on the bar next to me somewhat closer than necessary. I could smell a slight floral odor coming off her. It was sweet like lavender.

"Yes ma'am. I'm heading to California from St. Louis. Your barkeep put me up in room six for the night. I'll be leaving at first light." "You like the show, Jim?" she asked. "It's a bit tame compared to the river boats I worked on back in St. Louis, but they're nice." I said. "And what about you Miss Arabella. You from Kansas City?" I asked. "No. I grew up south of Wichita. Daddy still lives there." she answered. I offered her another whiskey. She pushed the glass toward me. As I filled the glass, Arabella reached for it and she touched my hand as I held it as I poured. It had been a long time since I had a woman touch me. At least one who I hadn't paid to touch me. My eyes found hers. She was staring right into mine. I have to admit that she was even more attractive now than I found her as she descended the steps. I stood straight up as she drank from the glass. Her head followed mine and her eyes got slightly bigger as she saw me at my full height. She placed the glass back on the bar. "Damn, you're a tall one, ain't you?" she said. I smiled. So did she.

Just then the girls finished their show and the curtain closed on the stage. The men began cursing and yelling for them to come back. Arabella excused herself. "Gotta go calm the mobs." she said as she walked away. She got to the stage and announced that they girls would return in a half hour and that they need to rest their legs for a bit. Although this wouldn't have calmed me if I were them, they seemed to respect her and they did quiet. I was going to find out shortly that there was also fear along with the respect. Arabella began circulating among her customers again. She also stopped to talk to her bar help. I couldn't keep from watching her as she walked. She seemed to almost float.