Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (46 page)

Mara was sitting at the kitchen table with her head on her arms when she heard the screen door open. She looked up to see Aubrey standing there.

“He’s gone, lass. ’Tis sorry I am that he come.”

“Come sit down, Aubrey. I just can’t believe that Papa would do this to me.”

“He had his reasons, to be sure, lass. I just not be knowin’ the meanness in Cullen.” Aubrey sat down at the table and clasped his hands in front of him. “What he said ’bout Shannon ’n Brita be lies to hurt you. Shannon be lovin’ Colleen to his dyin’ day.”

“I know that. It made me so angry the way he talked about Brita. Cousin Aubrey, why did you and Brita come to the school and tell me you were my guardians and let me think you were going to take care of my property until I could manage it myself?”

“ ’Twas Pack’s plan. He said it was a way for his mother ’n the boys to have a home. Ye see, lass, we be down ’n out. Pack come to say Shannon had passed on ’n his place in the Wyoming Territory would go to wrack ’n ruin without folks on it. I was to bring Brita ’n the boys ’n Cullen too. Cullen was not so wild then.”

“But you and Cullen hate Pack.”

“Not so much hate, lass, as resent. He come from time to time, tellin’ us do this, do that. I not be knowin’ he be the rightful owner, just be thinkin’ he be puttin’ his bill in. Brita had sworn not to tell.”

Wave after wave of humiliation washed over Mara. She had come here thinking this was
her
home. She had even offered half of the land to Pack if he would marry her. How was she going to face him?

“Cullen said everything. Papa had to leave me enough to pay for my schooling. How else could I have stayed there?”

“I not be knowin’ ’bout that. There be no cash money here to be payin’ fer a fancy school. ’Twas Cullen’s idea to board men on the run, lass. ’Tis hard to say, but I not be man enough to stand agin him, whiskey bein’ me best friend. Brita be knowin’ it, God bless her soul.”

“Being able to admit it shows that you’re more of a man than you think you are. Could it all be a mistake, Cousin Aubrey?” she asked hopefully.

“ ’Tis true as I know it, Mara Shannon. There be a way to know if yer not wantin’ to ask Pack. In Brita’s box under the bed ye would be findin’ letters.”

“The wooden box Pack said his father made while still in Ireland?”

“Aye. That be the one. The key is on a nail behind the bureau, or else it was. Brita did the readin’, me not bein’ able to read a line. Sure ’n ’tis glad I am the boys be learnin’.” Aubrey got up from the table. “Pack be a fair man, lass. He took a hard hand to me at first, but ’twas needed. I be sober now ’n lookin’ after me boys. ’Twas what Brita always wanted.”

“They’re good boys. Not at all like Cullen.”

“Aye. They want to be off to town. Steamboat and meself will be keepin’ a eye out here, lassie. Yer not to worry. Cullen won’t be back.”

“Tell the boys I don’t want Pack to know he was here.”

“Aye. He be havin’ enough on his mind this day.”

When she was alone, Mara dropped her head down on her arms that rested on the table. She felt betrayed. She began to shake as if she had a chill, and then numbness settled over her. It was an effort to swallow, to blink her eyes, and especially to think beyond one thought. She had come here thinking this was her home and that she had every right to be there. She had refused to leave when Pack ordered her to go, and had bullied and shamed him into marrying her by offering him one half of his own property. She moaned aloud as if she were in great pain.

*  *  *

In the early dawn the streets of Laramie were empty of horses and wagons. No one was about except for a couple of drunks sleeping beneath a stairway that hugged the side of a building. The air was crisp and cool. Pack breathed deeply and moved his shoulders in a circular motion to loosen the muscles. His thoughts were not of the fight that would take place in less than six hours, but of his wife at home. He wondered if she was awake, if she was thinking of him, and if she had missed him during the night as much as he had missed her. The twins would be in this morning; he wondered if she would send a message with them.

The weeks had passed slowly while he trained for the fight. Mara Shannon had not come to the barn to watch him work out, nor had she nagged at him about the coming match. She had ignored him except at the times when they ate a meal together or at night when she responded to his loving. When he left her the day before, she had returned his kiss with a little more fervor than he had expected, but he could read nothing of consequence in that.

He no longer had to dread that she would find out he was a prizefighter, but he did worry about what would happen when he told her about Shannon’s will.

Pack and Willy had arrived in Laramie at dusk, had supper with Charlie and Zack, and had spent the night at the Railroad Hotel. Sam and Zack would keep an eye on the crowd that could become unruly and try to get to the fighters if they were not pleased with a decision. Pack had gone by the Rivers’ place on his way to town. It was a pleasure to watch Emily’s face when she looked at her husband. And Pack was surprised to see Sam’s usually grim face so relaxed and smiling. Both of them had found together what they needed to make them happy.

The clear sky promised a fine day. Pack didn’t care what kind of day it was. He wanted the match over. He wanted to go home with the money it would take to give him and Mara Shannon a good start at ranching. In order to do that, he had to win the fight. He didn’t dare be overconfident. Moose Kilkenny was a fighting man and strong as a bull. His weakness was good Irish whiskey. Pack had seen Moose fight. He was what Pack considered a wrestling type of fighter. He would try to hold a man with one arm while hitting him with the other if he got the chance. Moose was experienced, but so was he. He would pace himself and make Moose do most of the work in the early rounds. He would save himself, wait for his chance, and be careful not to be caught flat-footed. If he did that he was confident he would win. He had bet one-half of his money in Flagg’s bank on himself. It was his last fight, and the first bet he had ever placed on himself to win.

He walked past the field where the ring had been set up next to the Kosy Kitty Saloon. Plank seats had been tiered against the building on one side and against the corral fence on the other. Along the back and the front, lengths of canvas had been stretched to keep the freeloaders from watching the fight without paying. Herman Flagg expected a standing-room-only crowd. Pack hoped he was right. The larger the crowd, the more money for him.

Pack walked back toward the hotel, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the boardwalk. Later in the day the Laramie Ladies would be marching and singing and protesting the match. They had posted signs calling for a vote to outlaw boxing because it was a savage, primitive custom.

Good luck, ladies, Pack mused silently. Contests of strength and fighting skills had been going on for centuries.

Boxing was becoming a popular spectator sport back East where the fighters wore gloves. Pack didn’t think the ladies had much of a chance outlawing it if a vote were taken. Although women were allowed a vote, here in the territory men outnumbered them two to one.

The bartender at the Diamond Saloon came out and stood on the walk waiting for Pack.

“Mornin’, Pack. How do you feel?”

“I feel fine. I’m stretching my legs before breakfast.”

“Have you seen Kilkenny?”

“No. I’ll see him soon enough.”

“I hear he’s turned mean lately. His last fight ended nasty when he tried to gouge a man’s eyes out. Watch him. He’ll do it if he gets a chance. There’s a lot ridin’ on this fight for him.”

“I’ll watch it. Thanks.”

“One more thing. There’s a gang of toughs in town betting on Moose. If I were you I’d stay off the street until fight time.”

“I intend to do just that.” Pack grinned. “Thanks again, Boston.”

Pack walked on. Many of his teamster friends had come to town to see him fight. It was only natural that Moose had a following too. News of this match had brought men in from all over the territory. Zachary Quill had said that even a newspaper man had come up from the
Denver Post.

Back at the hotel, Pack went directly to the kitchen for his breakfast, an arrangement Herman Flagg had made with the management. Willy was waiting for him. They ate steak and eggs, then went to the room to wait until fight time.

A loud, boisterous crowd had gathered when Pack, Charlie and Willy ducked into the canvas-enclosed dressing room that had been assigned to them. Pack wore flat-soled shoes made of soft black leather laced up above his ankles. His blue tights fit his legs and muscled thighs like a second skin and ended at his waist, leaving the rest of him bare when he removed his shirt.

“Odds are three to one cause a the beatin’ ya took by them toughs,” Willy said. “They ain’t thinkin’ ya’ve had time to get in shape.”

“They’re going to get a surprise, huh, Willy?”

The old man grinned. “I’d a not bet a hundred on ya if I thought different.” He began to rub Pack’s shoulders.

“Don’t let Moose get a bear hug on you,” Charlie cautioned. “A fellow told me and Zack that he’ll get up close so the referee can’t see his hand and he’ll grab your balls.”

“He used to be a pretty square boxer. What’s happened to him?”

“He’s slipping and knows it. He’s desperate to stay in the ring.”

“And I’m desperate to get out.”

The sound of a bell sent Willy to the peekhole in the canvas. “Big crowd. Lots of soldiers from the fort,” he commented before the bell rang again.

“May I have your attention, please! Gentlemen!” The crowd gradually quieted so they could hear.

“It’s the sergeant that refereed before.” Willy looked over his shoulder at Pack.

“Hagg said he’d be the one. He’s a fair man.”

“Take a look at what’s on the roof of the Kitty Saloon,” the referee shouted, and the crowd turned to look. Four men stood on the roof with rifles in their hands, Sam and Zack among them. “These men have been instructed to shoot any man who attempts to lay hands on either of the fighters.” The referee stopped speaking when his voice was drowned out by jeering from the crowd.

“There’s a tough crowd here,” Charlie said softly. “Railroad workers, soldiers, gamblers and town toughs. I see some townsmen and even a few women.”

“This boxing match,” the referee yelled, “is sanctioned by the Midwest Boxing Association, headquartered in Kansas City. London Prize Ring rules will apply. Any part of a man’s body, other than the soles of his feet, that touches the floor of the ring will be considered a knockdown and ends the round. A thirty-second rest will follow with an additional eight seconds to allow the fighters to come to the center of the ring. Butting, gouging, hitting below the belt and kicking will result in a forfeit. A winner will be declared when one man fails to come to scratch within ten seconds of time called for the next round.”

“Are ya ready, Pack?” Willy was always more nervous than Pack before a match.

“I’m ready. I’m anxious to get it over.”

The referee was shouting through a roughly made megaphone.

“Moose Kilkenny, winner of fifteen fights, loser of three, will be wearing black tights.”

Wild yells from Kilkenny’s backers and jeers from Pack’s announced Kilkenny’s entry into the ring.

“Pack Gallagher, the challenger, recently defeated Black Bob Mason in a match that lasted three rounds. He has won ten fights and lost none. He’ll be wearing blue tights.”

A deafening roar erupted from the crowd. Pack deliberately waited a few seconds before he walked out to the ring. Friends shouted encouragement, foes shouted insults. He vaulted up onto the platform and ducked under the rope.

The referee brought both men to the center of the ring. Moose Kilkenny’s body was thick, hairy and powerful. Pack, a good five or six years younger than his opponent, stood slightly taller, slimmer in the waist and even more muscled in the shoulders and biceps.

In a loud voice the referee announced that Pack’s nails were too long and would have to be trimmed. An angry hiss came from Kilkenny’s backers. Moose grinned and waved. His grin changed to a scowl, however, when the referee called for a bucket of water after he examined Moose’s hands and ran his fingers over knuckles that were as hard and rough as gravel. Amid loud, obscene complaints from the crowd, the referee scrubbed Moose’s hands with a brush, removing a film of hard, dried dirt mixed with glue. When he finished he said a few loud, uncomplimentary words about a man who would take unfair advantage, gave Moose time to dry his hands and sent him to his corner.

The tough old sergeant held up his hands for silence, his eyes on the timekeeper who sat at ringside. At a signal from him, the referee lowered his arms and yelled, “Time!”

TWENTY-TWO

When Mara got up from the chair, it was so fast that the chair rocked back on two legs before it righted itself. She hurried to the bedroom before she had a chance to change her mind and shoved the bureau out from the wall. The iron key was there on a nail just as Aubrey had said. She dropped to her knees beside the bed and pulled out the wooden box. Without pause, she fitted the key into the keyhole, turned it and lifted the lid.

One part of her said it was wrong to read the letters. The other part of her said she couldn’t live if she didn’t. She closed her mind to what was right or wrong about it and lifted out a packet of letters tied with a ribbon. They were addressed to Brita. She laid them aside and took out another packet. The first one was addressed to Mr. Jack Gallagher. She pulled the letter from the envelope and quickly scanned it. One paragraph caught her eye and she read it slowly.

Jack Gallagher, also known as Pack Gallagher: This is to inform you that you are the sole beneficiary of the estate of Shannon McCall.

Please call at my office at your earliest convenience.

James Randolph, Attorney at Law.

Feeling sick inside, Mara held the envelope close to her mouth, blew into the end to open it and slipped the folded paper back inside.
It was true. Her father had left everything to Pack.
Because of her disappointment, she almost didn’t read the next letter, but she opened it because it was also from the attorney and addressed to Pack in care of Mrs. Aubrey McCall.