“Then I shall have that, and a beer if you please.”
“Yes, sir, dumplin’s and a beer comin’ right up.”
Duff had never eaten chicken and dumplings before, nor had he ever even heard of them. But, despite the, to him, rather unappetizing appearance, he actually enjoyed them.
He had just finished his meal when he heard the sound of a loud slap, followed by a woman’s cry.
“Whore!” a man’s guttural voice shouted. “Keep your finger out of my drink! Ain’t no tellin’ where that whore finger of yours has been.”
“Please, sir, I did not put my finger in your drink.”
The man slapped her a second time. “Don’t you be lyin’ to me, whore. I seen you stick your finger down into the whiskey when you was bringin’ it over to me. You stuck your finger down into it, then you stuck your finger into your mouth, tryin’ to suck the whiskey offen it.”
Duff had a sudden flashback to his Skye, remembering how sometimes she had to deal with rude and abusive customers. That recollection made him feel a sense of concern for this woman. He was sitting at a nearby table, and he picked up his napkin and dabbed at his lips, then got up and walked over to the table where the big, bearded man was bullying the serving girl.
The bully had called her a whore, and that might be true. The woman was provocatively dressed, much more so than she would have been if she were only a serving girl. She might have been quite attractive at one time, but the dissipation of her profession had drained her of any natural beauty. In addition, her features were marred by a disfiguring scar that caused one eyelid to droop. That same scar continued below her eye and hooked in toward her nose.
Duff was certain that the disfiguring scar was not the result of an accident. Her left cheek was now red and already swelling from the two slaps she had just received.
“I beg your pardon, friend,” Duff said as he stepped up to the table.
“What the hell do you want?” the bully asked.
Duff picked up the glass of whiskey. “’Tis wonderin’ I am, if this be the drink that offends ye?”
“Offends ye? Ye?” the bully replied. “What are you, some sort of preacher? That’s Bible talk, ain’t it? Ye and thou—that kind of talk?”
“Aye, but ’tis also the language of my native country. I am Scottish.”
“Yeah, well, tell me, Mr. Scottish Man. What the hell are you doin’ interferin’ with somethin’ that ain’t none of your concern?”
“I thought perhaps I could buy you a new drink, since you think this one has been tainted.”
“Tainted? Yeah, that’s what it’s been all right.”
Duff took out a dollar and handed it to the serving girl. “Lassie, would you be so kind as to bring another drink for the gentleman?”
The girl took the dollar, went over to the bar to buy another drink, then brought it and the change back.
“I want no change. ’Twould please me for you keep it for your trouble,” Duff said.
The young woman smiled, and because the smile was genuine, it softened the features of her face.
“There you go, sir. Enjoy your drink,” Duff said.
The bearded man tossed the drink down in one swallow, then looked up at Duff. “What are you goin’ to do with that one?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m going to give this one to you as well,” Duff said.
Smiling, the man reached for the drink, but he, and everyone in the saloon now watching, gasped in surprise when Duff tossed the whiskey into the bearded man’s face.
“Why, you son of a bitch!”
The bearded man pulled his pistol from his holster and pointed it at Duff. But, calmly, Duff put his left hand down over the pistol, holding it in such a way as to prevent the hammer from coming back and the cylinder from turning.
Duff made a fist of his right hand and clubbed the bearded man on the jaw. The blow knocked him unconscious, and as he fell from the chair, he loosened his grip on the pistol so that it came out in Duff’s left hand.
“Damn! Did you see that?” someone asked.
“Shaw ain’t goin’ to like that when he comes to,” another said.
“Don’t look like he’s goin’ to come to all that soon.”
Duff walked over to the bar, emptied the pistol of all its bullets, then dropped the gun and the bullets into the fullest spittoon. That done, he looked over at the young woman whose face, like the face of everyone else in the saloon, wore an expression of shock.
“And will ye be all right, lass?” he asked.
“I—uh—yes. I will be fine. I can’t believe a stranger would come to my rescue as you did. Thank you, very much.”
“Och, dinnae worry yourself, lassie,” Duff said, slipping into a strong Scottish brogue.
Duff heard the train whistle blow. The passengers had been told that the train whistle would blow ten minutes before it left the station.
“That’s my train,” he said. “Best I go, now. Barkeep, please tell your cook for me that the cock and pastry was quite delicious.”
“Cock and pastry?”
“He means the chicken and dumplings,” the serving girl said.
“Oh, yes, I will tell her,” The bartender replied.
Aware that everyone was still staring at him, Duff left the saloon and walked back down to the depot. The depot platform was crowded, not only with the passengers who were getting back on the train but with several of the citizens of the town who had come just for the excitement of watching a train arrive and leave.
The fireman had banked the fire during the stay, but had re-stoked it in preparation for their departure. The train was alive with sound, from escaping steam to the gurgling of water in the boiler.
“Board!” the conductor called and he smiled and touched the brim of his hat as Duff stepped aboard.
“You gave the bully what was coming,” the conductor said. “Good for you.”
Duff looked at him in surprise.
“I was there, I saw everything. You didn’t notice me, because I took off my coat and hat.” He laughed. “I can’t eat ham and fried potatoes every meal, either.”
Chapter Eleven
Duff had just settled in his seat on the train when he saw the woman from the Occidental Saloon come onboard. She looked around the car for a moment, then seeing Duff, came back to his seat. He started to stand, but she held out her hand.
“Don’t be troubling yourself, Mister, I won’t be bothering you,” she said. “I just wanted to thank you again.” She held up her ticket. “I’m going on to Central City. There’s nothing here for me now, and I’ve got a friend there.”
“You gave up your job?”
The woman smiled. “Mister, in my line of work, jobs are easy to come by,” she said.
The train whistle blew two long whistles, then the train started forward. As the slack in the couplings was taken up, the young woman, still standing in the aisle beside Duff’s seat, was thrown off balance and would have fallen had Duff not caught her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll go find a seat somewhere and be of no further bother.”
“Nonsense, you are no bother,” Duff said. “Please, sit here.”
The woman sat down, not on the seat beside him, but on the seat across, facing him.
“My name is Belle,” the woman said. Then with an uncomfortable smile, she shook her head. “No, it isn’t. That’s just the name I use when I’m working. My real name is Martha. Martha Jane Radley. I don’t know why I told you my real name. I never tell anyone. I would not want it to get back to my pa that I am a soiled dove.”
“Soiled dove? I don’t know the term.”
“Soiled dove is what we, that is, girls who are on the line, call ourselves.”
“On the line?”
“I am going to have to come right out and say it, aren’t I?” Martha said. “I don’t just serve drinks. I am also a prostitute.”