“I can see how that would be bad for your business.”
“Her business?” Pamela asked. “What is her business?”
“She, uh…that is…” Hawke started to say.
“I’m a whore, Miss Dorchester,” Libby said easily. “A very high-class whore, but a whore all the same.”
“Oh my,” Libby said. “You eschew the use of euphemisms, I see.”
“You mean like, soiled dove?” Libby replied. She chuckled. “Yes, that is the colorful and perhaps even genteel way of referring to the profession. But it is also dissembling. No, Miss Dorchester, I take full responsibility for what I am.”
“Well, I must say that I admire your candidness.”
“Listen, how would you two like to have lunch with us?” Libby asked. “Jay can get the private dining room at the hotel.”
“Oh, I—” Hawke started to say, but was interrupted by Pamela.
“Would love to,” Pamela said.
“Great!” Libby replied. “Say, one o’clock at the hotel?”
“We’ll be there.”
Excusing herself, Libby walked on down the sidewalk with all the flounces in her dress fluttering in the morning breeze.
“I hope you don’t mind my accepting the invitation,” Pamela said after Libby was out of hearing.
“No, I don’t mind,” Hawke said. “Although I’m a little surprised that you did.”
“Why are you surprised?”
“Well, because Libby…uh, that is I mean Miss St. Cyr, is…”
“Yes, I know, she is a whore. She was quite candid on that point, I believe.”
Hawke smiled and nodded. “Yes, she was that, all right.”
“Mr. Hawke, are you not aware of the fact that every woman has a burning curiosity about such things?”
“No, I guess I didn’t know that,” Hawke replied.
“I’m very much looking forward to our lunch.”
The private dining room of the hotel was well-appointed, and a large table was set for six with gleaming china, sparkling crystal, and shining silver. Jay Dupree was a gracious host, and he paid particular attention to Pamela, hurrying over to hold the chair for her before anyone else could.
The conversation during the meal was animated.
“You never did come up to South Pass to play the piano for us,” Libby said.
“That would have been hard for him to do, my dear,” Jay said. “Since we didn’t have a piano.”
Libby laughed. “Now that you mention it, we didn’t, did we?”
“I had plans to bring one up there, but we didn’t stay long enough. As soon as everyone found out there wasn’t any gold, they left.”
“That’s for sure,” Sue said. “Why, that place emptied like a theater after a play.”
“Here’s what I still don’t understand,” Libby said. “Why did they go to all that trouble to make people think there was gold up there? I mean, nobody was selling claims or anything like that. It doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“Oh, it makes sense all right,” Pamela said. “If you understand the real reason.”
“What is the real reason?”
“Yes, I’d be interested in that as well,” Jay added.
“It was all a means of getting land,” Pamela said. “Bailey McPherson convinced Addison Ford that she would be building a railroad from Green River to South Pass, and Ford, acting for the federal government, began taking land away from the valley ranchers and giving it to her.”
“How can he do that?” Jay asked.
Pamela explained about the Railroad Land Grant Act of 1862.
“I’m sure that it was a good thing when they were building the transcontinental railroad,” she concluded. “But Bailey McPherson has used it to steal land. Now we know that she had no intention of ever building a railroad in the first place, but it’s too late to do anything about it.”
“Why don’t you go to Addison Ford and tell him what has happened?” Libby asked.
“Ha! A lot of good that would do,” Pamela said. “Ford is in it up to his bottom lip.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Yes, but now that there isn’t going to be a railroad, won’t the land be returned to the original owners?” Lulu asked.
Pamela shook her head. “I doubt it,” she said. “It would take an act of Congress for the government to admit it made a mistake. At least we’ve got the water back now, thanks to Hawke and a few of our cowboys. And without the excuse of the railroad, I don’t see how they can possibly rebuild the dam. So our cattle won’t die of thirst, but they will have a lot less range to roam around in.”
“Well, that’s something, at least,” Jay said, and paused as the waiter came in, carrying a tray with several small bowls.
“Ahh,” Jay said. “Dessert.”
“Desert?” Pamela said. “Oh, I’m so full, I don’t think I could eat another thing.”
“Oh, but you have to try their bread pudding,” Lulu said. “It is simply wonderful.”
“It does look good,” Pamela admitted as she examined the bowl put before her.
Abruptly, Libby stood. “Would you people excuse me? I just realized, there are some things I need to do before we leave.”
“Are you sure, my dear? Before dessert?” Jay asked.
“Yes, this is something that has to be done. Please excuse me.”
“Of course,” Jay said.
“Libby, I’ll bring your pudding to your room,” Lulu offered.
“Thanks,” Libby called back as she left the dining room.
“Hmm,” Jay said when she was gone. “That was strange. I wonder what she had to do that was so important?”
“Really, Pamela, your mother would be rolling over in her grave if she knew that you had lunch with doxies,” Dorchester said.
“They aren’t doxies, Father,” Pamela insisted.
“Oh? Then, pray tell, what are they?”
“They are whores.”
Dorchester laughed out loud. “Whores, you say? Well, is there any difference?”
“They seem to think so, don’t they, Hawke?”
Hawke, who was in the parlor with them, laughed and held up his hands. “Wait a minute, you aren’t going to get me into this.”
“What do you mean, don’t get you into this? You are the one who introduced me to them in the first place.”
Dorchester laughed again. “I do believe she has you there, Hawke.”
Wilson stuck his head in the room then and discreetly cleared his throat.
“Yes, Mr. Wilson.”
“This telegram has just been delivered to you, sir,” he said, holding out a piece of paper.
“My word, a telegram for me?”
“What is it, Father? Not bad news I hope,” Pamela said anxiously.
“Did you give the delivery boy a gratuity?” Dorchester asked as he opened the envelope.
“I did, sir.”
“Good, good.”
Pamela and Hawke studied Dorchester’s face as he read the telegram, trying to discern its contents.
“Good Lord, can this be true?”
“What is it, Father?” Pamela asked again.
Dorchester began to read aloud. “‘Effective this day all land unjustly seized by the government is hereby returned to the original owner stop. U. S. Marshals are being sent to Green River to place under arrest the perpetrators of this fraud stop. Signed Congressman Thomas Ashby of North Carolina stop.’”
“Oh, Father, that is wonderful!” Pamela said.
“Yes,” Dorchester said. “It is, isn’t it?” He looked at the telegram. “But to think our salvation would come from a congressman from North Carolina. How very odd.”
At about the time Dorchester was reading the telegram, Rob Dealey was stepping into the Royal Flush saloon. The livelihood of every patron in the saloon depended upon ranching in one way or the other, and though they did not yet know that the land was being returned, they did know about the water. And the return of a steady supply of water was very important to them. Because of that, Rob was greeted with a cheer.