“I tell you what, Billy. You let me worry about what is right and what is wrong,” Ike said. “All you have to do is remember that you are a Clinton.”
“You’re wastin’ your time talkin’ to him, Pa,” Cletus said. “He ain’t got no more gumption than a milk-fed puppy.”
“Get on out of here, let me talk to Billy,” Ike said.
“Why do you want to do that?” Cletus asked. “I’m tellin’ you, you’re just wastin’ your time.”
“Get out,” Ike ordered.
“I reckon it’s your time to waste, Pa,” Cletus said. Turning, he and Ray left. Billy started to go, too.
“No, you stay,” Ike said to Billy.
“Cletus’s right, Pa,” Billy said. “I don’t have the stomach for this.”
“You stay and listen to me,” Ike said.
With a sigh, Billy came back inside.
“Have a seat,” Ike said, pointing to the sofa.
Billy sat, and Ike sat on a chair across from him. Ike stared at Billy for a long time.
“Billy, why do you think I’m doing all this?” Ike finally asked.
“Why do I think you are attacking General Garrison’s wagons?”
“No, not that. Well, yes, that, but more. Much more. What I mean is, why do you think I’m working so hard to make the ranch bigger and more successful? I mean, when you think about it, I’m already the richest man in the county. I wouldn’t have to do another thing for the rest of my life if I didn’t want to, and I could live out the rest of my life like a king.”
“I don’t know, Pa. I’ll be honest with you, I have wondered about that very thing.”
“Well, it ain’t all that hard to figure out, son,” Ike said. “I’m doin’ it for you.”
“You’re doing it for me?” Billy asked in disbelief.
“Yes, for you, Ray, and Cletus.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t reckon you do understand,” Ike said. “Look, there are three of you. Right now, I do have a lot of money, but there is only one of me. After I’m gone, everything I have is goin’ to have to be divided up three ways. And if there’s not enough to go around, well, you know how Ray and Cletus are. It wouldn’t surprise me none if they didn’t start fightin’ among themselves. Only—and this here is where you come in, Billy—you bein’ the youngest, and you bein’ the, well, let’s say the meekest of the three, you’re the first one that would get hurt.”
“No, I wouldn’t get hurt,” Billy said. “I’d walk away and let them have it.”
“You would, huh? And where would that leave you and that little girl you’ve been sniffin’ around?”
“Do you mean Kathleen?”
“Yes, I mean Kathleen. You ain’t exactly keepin’ it a secret how you feel about her. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t feel the same way about you.”
“Well, she does, I think,” Billy said. “Only—”
“Only right now things ain’t goin’ too well between her pa and me,” Ike said, finishing Billy’s sentence. “I can see how that might be a problem. But after one of us is gone, either Garrison or me, it won’t be a problem no more. And then you’ll need money to make her happy.”
“I don’t think Kathleen is the kind of girl that needs money to make her happy.”
Ike chuckled. “All women is that kind,” he said. “Whether you’re talkin’ ’bout the whores that work for Maggie, or girls like Kathleen. It takes a heap of money to keep ’em happy. And if I can take over the railroad from Garrison, you won’t never have no money problems. And look at it this way,” he added. “If you wind up marryin’ his daughter, why, all the money goes back to him anyway.”
Chapter Fifteen
Saturday morning, a large banner was stretched across Higbee Avenue.
DANCE TO NIGHT!
MORNING STAR HOTEL
Come one, come all
The musicians had come to La Junta by train from Denver; then arrangements were made for them to have a special stagecoach that would take them to Higbee. They arrived in Higbee just after noon, with their instruments securely lashed to the top of the stage.
The arrival created a great deal of excitement as children and dogs met the stage at the edge of town, then ran alongside it as the coach came the rest of the way. Occasionally, one of the children would run up very close to the stage and poke a stick into the whirling wheels, laughing as the stick was jerked from his hands and thrown back onto the road.
By the time the coach reached the Morning Star Hotel, several of the townspeople had gathered as well to watch the musicians disembark.
“Careful with that violin, my good man!” one of the musicians called up to the top of the stage when an eager onlooker took it upon himself to help.
“With the what?” the would-be helper replied.
“With the…fiddle,” the musician said.
“Oh, hell, don’t worry ’bout that. I ain’t goin’ to drop it or nothin’.”
The musician cringed as the fiddle was handed down to him. Soon, all the instruments were off-loaded and the band was met by Mayor Charles Coburn.
“Welcome, welcome, gentlemen, to Higbee,” Mayor Coburn said, extending his hands to all of them. “We have a nice lunch prepared for you, and have rooms for you here in the hotel. Which one of you is Edwin Mathias?”
“I am Edwin Mathias.”
The man who answered was a tall, very dignified-looking man, with a neatly trimmed beard and a touch of gray at the temples.
“Ah, good, good, you are the one I have been corresponding with, I believe. Do you have any questions?”
“If you don’t mind, I would like to see where we are to perform tonight,” Edwin said.
For a moment, the mayor looked confused. “Perform? Uh, Mr. Mathias, you do understand that you aren’t actually going to perform, don’t you? You have been hired to provide music for a dance.”
“Mayor, I am a professional musician,” Edwin said. “Indeed, we are all professional musicians.” He took in the others with a wave of his hand. “Do you think for one minute that providing music for a dance isn’t performing?”
“I—I suppose if you put it that way,” Mayor Coburn said.
“Good, then we are in agreement.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose we are,” he said. “Well, come with me then, and I’ll show you the ballroom.”
Edwin and the other musicians followed the mayor into the hotel, where they were greeted by the concierge and the desk clerk as well as several others.
“I must tell you, Mr. Mathias, this annual dance is the highlight of our social life.”
“Social life,” Edwin repeated, and though he didn’t slur the words, there was an implied degree of condescension in the tone of his voice.
“Yes, sir, social life,” the mayor repeated. “Oh, I’ll admit, Higbee doesn’t look like much now, but we’ll be havin’ our own railroad through here soon. And once that happens, we’ll grow like weeds. I’ve seen it happen time and time again.”
“Yes, of course,” Edwin said. “Please forgive me, Mayor, I didn’t mean to be patronizing.”
“That’s all right. I know people who see Higbee for the first time, and who don’t know ’bout the railroad, don’t really understand. But you might be interested in knowing that we already have a famous musician living right here among us. I’ll admit, she hasn’t been here very long, but she’s here now, and that’s all that counts.”
“Oh? And who would that be?”
“Rachael Kirby,” Mayor Coburn said.
Edwin had turned away from the mayor to walk over and examine more closely the platform upon which they would be performing that night. He had asked the question without any real curiosity, because he was certain that the “famous” musician the mayor was about to name would be of no interest to him.
But when he heard the name Rachael Kirby, he stopped and turned back toward the mayor.