“Yeah, me too.” Her voice bore unexpected sorrow.
Marybeth didn’t want to make her feel worse. “I’ll take a few cans of milk and some crackers and cheese. Oh, and the bread.”
Cynthia nodded but gazed past Marybeth as a couple of men entered the store. Marybeth turned and saw one push the other.
“Hank, you’re always bossin’ me around, and I ain’t gonna take it no more,” the younger of the two men declared.
“You ain’t smart enough to get through the day without me tellin’ you what to do.” The older man reared back and slugged the younger man in the jaw. The man went reeling and hit the floor. Almost immediately he jumped up and plowed into the man he’d called Hank.
Marybeth had seen men fight before but never inside a store. When Cynthia touched her arm, she turned, still completely caught up with the men who were now throwing additional punches.
“You’d better come back here with me.” Cynthia pulled her along behind the counter. “Joe will take care of this, but it might get messy.”
“You two know better than to come in here causing trouble,” the man behind the counter at the other end of the store declared. “Take your fight and get out.”
The men ignored everyone but each other. They continued to slam into the counter and other displays, sending items crashing to the floor. Joe came from behind the counter with a rifle. He leveled it at the older of the two.
“I said take your fight outside.”
Hank looked at the younger man and then back to Joe. “My fight ain’t with you, Joe.”
“That’s good. Then take it outside.” He stood his ground, fixing Hank with a hard look.
“Come on, Emory. Let’s go.” Hank gave the younger man a backhand into his gut. “I’ll take this up with you later, Joe.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to take up, Hank. I don’t care if the two of you knock each other senseless, just don’t do it in my store.”
The man grunted something and exited the store, dragging Emory with him. Marybeth looked back to Cynthia.
She shrugged. “Those are two of the worst examples of mankind in Cheyenne. The Garlow brothers are just plain bad.” Her soft Southern drawl helped Marybeth to relax.
“I’m not used to such scenes to be sure.”
“Well, in all honesty, most of the decent women in Cheyenne know better than to go out alone. Most even have their help do the shopping or hire a boy to come get what’s needed. This isn’t a safe town ... not yet.”
“My husband is hoping to help on that end,” Marybeth said, forcing a smile. “He’s one of the deputy marshals.”
Cynthia frowned and looked away. “I hope he has better luck than some of the others.”
7
“This is the tent I managed to secure for you. I paid the deposit and first week’s rent,” Fred told Edward.
“A tent? In the middle of winter.” Edward could see there were a dozen or more tents set up in rows.
Fred chuckled. “I know you aren’t used to frontier living, but this is the way it’s done. At least at first. If you get to looking around town, you’ll see folks who have added log bottoms or attachments to make their tent living a little more comfortable. Those are people who own their tents of course. Others have brought over buildings from Julesburg. That was the last end-of-the-tracks town to the east of here.”
“They moved the whole building?” Edward asked in disbelief.
“Sure. They’ve done that all along the line, and they’ll keep on doing it until the owner decides to settle in one place or another. Railroad will move ’em for free. It helps to establish the next town.”
“I’ll be. That’s just amazing as far as I’m concerned.” He looked the tent over and shrugged. “Guess I should see the inside.”
“Not much to see, but go ahead.” Fred pulled back the first set of flaps. There was another set of netting below this. He tied those back. “You’ll be glad for the net come summer. It gets hot here, and the bugs are vicious.”
Edward followed him inside. The entire tent was about ten by ten with a small cookstove vented out the top of the tent just to their right. Beside the stove was a box with a few pieces of coal.
“It doesn’t look like much, I know.”
