Tyree was laughing as he walked by the saloon patrons and bartender, who were gathered just outside.
“I’ve heard of Falcon MacCallister,” someone said as they watched Tyree ride off. “Never knew he was an evil son of a bitch.”
“That wasn’t Falcon MacCallister, you damn fool,” the bartender said. “That was Jefferson Tyree.”
A few days later, and from another town, Tyree posted a letter.
Carter Manning
General Delivery
Hancock, Colorado
Dear Mr. Manning,
I don’t know if nobody has told you this yet but your boy has been kilt. I seen it happen and can tell you that it was Falcon MacCallister what shot him in the back.
Jefferson Tyree
Chapter Three
Pueblo, Colorado
Rachael Kirby played the opening bars of the music as the curtain opened on stage. There, on stage, were Hugh and Mary Buffington, members of the troupe from the J. Garon production of the play Squatter Sovereignty.
When they first appeared on stage, the audience saw nothing unusual. The two moved around from one side of the stage to the other, as if searching for something, and Rachael played the music to accompany their movement.
Then, with a crashing piano crescendo, Hugh turned, so that the audience could see his back.
Hanging from his back was a fish.
The audience roared with laughter.
Hugh reacted as if he had no idea what the audience was laughing at, and he kept whirling about, looking behind him, but of course, as the fish was attached to his back, he never saw it.
Rachael kept time with the antics on stage, the piano music adding to the comedy.
Finally, Hugh reached over his shoulder and, finding the fish, unhooked it, and brought it around so he could see it. He gasped, and opened his mouth and eyes wide as he looked at the fish.
Again, the piano music reflected his reaction.
HUGH: By heavens, that’s a haddock.
MARY: ’Tis, and was hanging to a sucker.
The crowd exploded with laughter.
HUGH: You’re only codding me.
More laughter.
MARY: What eels you?
By now, the laughter was nonstop.
HUGH: I’ve smelt that before.
The crowd’s laughter was so loud that for the moment, Rachael had to quit playing the piano.
Throwing the fish into the wings of the stage, Hugh and Mary looped their arms together and marched about singing:
If you want for information
Or in need of merriment,
Come over with me socially
To Murphy’s tenement.
He owns a row of houses
In the first ward, near the dock,
Where Ireland’s represented
By the babies on our block.
Rachael accompanied every act and every song, even playing while the curtain was drawn between acts. Most of her music was light, but as a finale to each show, she would play a piece from one of the well-known established composers, such as Bach, Beethoven, Vivaldi, or Chopin.
Such music was not foreign to Rachael, who was a classically trained pianist. She had performed on concert stages in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, as well as in opera houses in London, Paris, and Berlin.
The conclusion of her number was met with thunderous applause, which intensified, and was accompanied by shouts of “Huzzah!” when the curtains parted for the final bows of the theater group.
Rachael continued to play until the theater emptied. Then, as a couple of theater employees went around extinguishing the gas lanterns, Rachael gathered her music and went backstage to join the others.
It was always an exciting time after a show, with the energy high and the performers teasing each other over the slightest gaff. Also, after every evening performance, the troupe would go out for a late dinner.
But when Rachael went backstage she found, not the merriment and excitement she expected, but angry expressions and harsh words.
“What is it?” she asked, puzzled by the reaction of the others. “What’s going on?”
“J. Garon, that’s what’s going on,” Hugh said.
“What about Mr. Garon? Where is he?”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” Mary said.
“The son of a bitch has absconded with the money,” Hugh said.
“You mean tonight’s take?”
Hugh shook his head. “No. I mean all the money. Everything we’ve taken in since we started this tour.”
“What’s worse, he has stuck us with the bill that is due for this theater this week,” Mary said.
“Yes, we owe the theater owner two hundred fifty dollars,” Hugh explained.
“We owe it? How could we owe it? Garon is the troupe manager.”
“Garon’s not here and we are,” Hugh explained. “The theater manager has already let us know that either we pay what we owe, or he’ll take legal action against us.”
“Can we come up with two hundred fifty dollars?”
“How much money do you have?” Hugh asked.
“About fifty dollars,” Rachael said.
“We can come close.”
“But that fifty is all I have. If Garon is gone and we are on our own, I’ll need money to live.”
“We’re all in the same boat, my dear,” one of the other players said.
“Maybe we can do another performance tomorrow night,” Rachael suggested. “Surely, one more performance will make enough money to get us out of this.”
Hugh shook his head. “We’ve already approached the theater manager with that proposal,” he said. “But he has the theater all booked. There’s nothing we can do.”
“At least, our hotel bill is paid for one more night,” Mary said.
“And we have train tickets that will take us back to New York,” Hugh said.
“But not enough money to eat on the train,” another added. “It’s going to be a long, hungry trip.”
“The way I see it, we have no choice,” Hugh said. “We have to go back to New York.”
“I’m not going back,” Rachael said, surprising the others.
“What do you mean, you aren’t going back?” Hugh asked, surprised by her statement. “Surely you don’t intend to stay out here in this—this godforsaken West, do you? Don’t you want to go back to New York?”
“No, why should I go back?” Rachael replied. “There’s nothing for me back there.”
“Rachael, it is ridiculous for you to let Edwin Mathias ruin your whole life,” Hugh said.
“Hugh,” Mary scolded.
“Oh,” Hugh said. “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rachael said. “I know you are just trying to be helpful.”
They debated as to whether they should have dinner at their usual place that night, or save what little money they had in order to get back home. In the end, they decided they would have dinner.
“We may as well have one last dinner together,” Hugh said. “For who knows when we will eat again?”
“That’s Hugh for you,” one of the others said. “Laughing as we pass through the graveyard.”
The others laughed.
Although the dinner could have been a somber affair, the members of the stranded troupe laughed, and exchanged stories in spite of—or perhaps because of—their situation.
Afterward, Rachael went up to her room at the hotel, then lay in bed, staring up at the darkness. She had very little money, no job, no prospects, and no contacts in the West. But she also had no intention of going back East. Her situation was bleak at best, and a lesser person might have cried.
Rachael refused to let herself cry. She had been through a worse situation than this. She had been through Edwin Mathias.