Bloodstone

'Yes,' she whispered.

He nodded. 'It lessens us both.'

'I know,' she answered, her eyes downcast.

* * *

The main street of Purity was bustling with people as Nestor and Clem rode in; miners, their weekend pay burning holes in their pockets, were heading for the taverns and gambling-houses, while the locals moved along packed sidewalks to restaurants and eating-houses. Shops and stores were still open, although dusk was long since past, and three lamplighters were moving along the street carrying ladders and tapers. Behind them, in double lines, the huge oil-lamps gave off a yellow glow that made the mud of the main street shine as if it was streaked with gold.

Nestor had never been to Purity, though he had heard that the silver mines had brought great prosperity to the community. The air stank of smoke and sulphur, and music was playing all along the street, discordant and brash as many melodies vied for the ear.

'Let's get a drink,' shouted Clem. 'My throat feels like I'm carrying half the desert caked around it.'

Nestor nodded in reply and they drew up outside a large tavern with ornate stained-glass windows.

Some twenty horses were hitched to the rail and Nestor had difficulty finding a place to leave their mounts. Clem ducked under the rail and strode into the tavern. Inside there were gaming tables, and a long bar served by five barmen. A band was playing brass instruments, a pianist accompanying them.

Above the gaming hall a gallery ran around the room and Nestor saw gaudily-dressed women moving along it, arm-in-arm with miners or local men. The boy frowned. Such behaviour was immoral, and it surprised him that any Deacon township would tolerate such displays.

Clem eased his way to the bar and ordered two beers. Nestor did not like the taste of beer, but said nothing as the glass was pushed towards him.

The noise within the tavern was deafening, and Nestor drank in uncomfortable silence. What pleasure, he wondered, could men draw from such places? He wandered across to a card table, where men were pushing Barta notes into the centre of the table. He shook his head. Why work all week and then throw your money away in a single night? It was incomprehensible.

Nestor turned away — and collided with a burly man carrying a pint of beer. The liquid splashed down the man's shirt and the glass fell from his grasp to shatter on the sawdust-strewn floor.

'You clumsy bastard!' the man shouted.

'I'm sorry. Let me buy you another.' A fist hit Nestor square in the face, hurling him back over a card table, which toppled, spilling Barta notes to the floor. Nestor rolled and tried to come upright but, dizzy, he stumbled back to his knees. A booted foot cracked into his side and he rolled away from the blow, but came up against a table-leg. The man reached down and dragged him up by the lapels of his jacket.

'That will be enough,' Nestor heard Clem Steiner say.

The man glanced round. 'It will be enough when I say it is. Not before,' retorted his attacker.

'Let him go or I'll kill you,' said Clem.

The music had ceased when Nestor had been struck, but now the silence was almost unbearable. Slowly the man let him go, then pushed him away. He turned towards Clem, his hand hovering over the holstered gun at his hip. 'You'll kill me, dung-breath? You know who I am?'

'I know you're a lard-belly with all the speed of a sick turtle,' said Clem, with an easy smile. 'So before you make an attempt to pull that pistol, I should call on what friends you have to stand beside you.'

The man swore and made a grab for the gun, but even as his hand closed on the butt he found himself staring down the barrel of Clem's nickel-plated revolver. Clem walked forward until the barrel rested on the man's forehead. 'How did anyone as slow as you live to get so ugly?' he asked. As he finished speaking, he stepped forward and brought his knee up hard into the other's groin. With a groan the man slumped forward and Clem's pistol landed a sickening blow to the back of his neck. He hit the floor face first and did not move.

'Friendly place,' said Clem, holstering the pistol. 'You finished fooling around, Nestor?'

The boy nodded glumly. Then let's find somewhere to eat,'' said Clem, clapping the younger man on the shoulder.

Nestor stumbled forward, still dizzy, and Clem caught him. 'By God, boy, you are a trouble to be around.'

An elderly man approached them. 'Son, take a little advice and leave Purity. Sachs won't forget that beating. He'll be looking for you.'

'Where's the best eating-house in town?' countered Clem.

The Little Marie. Two blocks down towards the south. On the right.'

'Well, when he wakes up, you tell him where I've gone. And tell him to bring his own shovel. I'll bury him where he lands.'

Clem steered Nestor out of the tavern and half-lifted him to the saddle. 'Cling on there, boy,' he said. The pain'll pass.'

'Yes, sir,' mumbled Nestor. Clem mounted and led Nestor north. 'Ain't we going the wrong way, sir?'

Clem just chuckled. Several blocks further along the street they came to a small restaurant with a painted sign proclaiming, 'The Unity Restaurant'. This will do,' said Clem. 'How are you feeling?'

'Like a horse walked over me.'

'You'll survive. Let's eat.'

The restaurant boasted just five tables, only one of which was occupied. The diner was a tall man, wearing the grey shield shirt of a Crusader. Clem hung his hat on a rack by the door and walked to a table. A slender waitress with honey-blonde hair approached him. 'We got steak. We got chicken. We got ham. Make your choice.'

‘I can see the reason for the restaurant's popularity,' said Clem. 'I hope the food is warmer than the welcome.'

'You won't find out till you make a choice,' she said, without a change of expression. 'We got steak. We got chicken. We got ham.'

‘I’ll have steak and eggs. So will he. Medium rare.'

'Er, I prefer mine well done,' said Nestor.

'He's young, but he'll learn,' put in Clem. 'Make it two, medium rare.'

'We got local wine. We got beer. We got Baker's. Make your choice.'

'How good is the wine?' She raised one eyebrow. 'Forget I asked. We'll take the beer.'

As she walked away Nestor leaned forward. 'What kind of a town is this?' he asked Clem. 'Did you see what they were doing in that tavern? Gambling, and consorting with. . with. .' the young man stumbled to a halt.

Clem chuckled. 'You mean the women? Ah, Nestor, you've got a lot to learn, boy.'

'But it's against the Deacon's laws.'

There are some things you can't legislate against,' said Clem, his smile fading. 'Most men need the company of a woman from time to time. In a mining community, where men outnumber women maybe twenty to one, there's not enough to go round. That sort of situation leads to trouble, Nestor. A good whore can help keep the peace.'

'Your friend is a wise man,' said the Crusader, easing back his chair and wandering over to their table.

He was tall and stoop-shouldered, with a drooping moustache. 'Welcome to Purity, boys,' he said. 'I'm Seth Wheeler, local Captain of Crusaders.'

Those are the first pleasant words we've heard,' said Clem, offering his hand.

Wheeler shook it and pulled up a chair. 'Just visiting?' he asked.

'Passing through,' said Clem, before Nestor could speak.

Wheeler nodded. 'Don't judge us too harshly, young man,' he told Nestor. 'Your friend is right. Once the silver mines opened up we got every kind of villain here, and some four thousand miners. Hard men. At first we tried to uphold the laws regarding gambling and the like. But it went on just the same. Tricksters and conmen fleece the workers. That led to killings. So we opened up the gambling-houses and we tried to keep them fair. It ain't perfect, but we do our best to keep the peace. It ain't easy.'

'But what about the law?' said Nestor.