The Trailsman #294

As Martha walked through the darkened streets of Portland, she realized that she’d never been out so late before. And she’d never been out alone after dark before, either. It wasn’t proper for a young—well, not old at any rate—woman to be alone in such a situation. But sometimes you had to break the rules in order to do the right thing. Breaking the rules was another thing Martha had never done, but she was doing it now, and she didn’t regret it. Oddly enough, she felt good about it, and a little bit excited.

Her first problem would be finding Sally Garvin’s establishment. She had a vague idea that it would be near the docks, but Martha had never ventured into that part of town. Having heard tales of the rough men and women who inhabited the area, she was a little afraid of what she might encounter, but she kept walking.

Soon she was on an unfamiliar street, and the damp night seemed to close in around her. The clouds obscured the moon, and she was uncomfortable in the darkness.

When she entered the business district, she mounted the boardwalk, her shoes making a hollow sound as she moved along. She passed the darkened windows of a saddle shop, smelling the new leather, and went by a barbershop, a dry-goods store, and a hardware store.

The street showed no signs of life until she went several blocks farther, to where a saloon stood on a corner. She had a feeling that the men inside would know where to find Sally Garvin, but she wasn’t sure she had the courage to ask.

As she approached the saloon, she heard laughter and music. Light spilled out onto the boardwalk. Near the bat-wing doors a man sat with his back to the wall, drinking from a bottle that he held carefully with both hands.

When she reached him, the smell of liquor was so strong that she knew he wouldn’t be capable of assaulting anyone. He might not be capable of giving directions, either, but she bent down to ask.

“Lookin’ for man? You foun’ ’im,” he said, but his legs wouldn’t support him, and he slid back down the wall to the boardwalk.

Martha had backed away, but when she saw that the man was incapable of getting to his feet, she approached him again.

“I’m not looking for you. I’m looking for a man named Fargo. He’s staying at Sally Garvin’s.” Martha knew it was useless to explain further, but she couldn’t help herself. “I want to give him some new information.”

Martha sighed and straightened. She was sorry she had stopped. It had been a mistake. But before she had taken two steps, the man said, “Two stree’s over, one block to ya righ’, rooms to ren’.”

She turned to thank him, but his head was slumped on his chest. He emitted a loud snore. Martha decided he didn’t need thanking, after all.

She found the place without any trouble. The ROOMS TO RENT sign was hard to miss. But she hesitated before going inside. What would they think of her? That she had come looking for employment?

The thought made her smile. She would no doubt be the least experienced soiled dove in the history of that occupation. Not that she was a virgin, though she might as well have been. Her sole experience had been many years before, when she was only fifteen, with a boy who had been visiting her aunt. They had been in a secluded arbor in her aunt’s backyard, and after a good deal of kissing and feeling, they had both become quite excited. Taking off their clothes had seemed only natural, as had what followed.

The boy had returned home the next day, and Martha had never seen him again. She had never forgotten the experience, however. It had been quite pleasant, much more pleasant than she had thought it would be. She had hoped to repeat it often, but the opportunity had never presented itself. Corby Bryan had been far too respectful of her to attempt sexual relations, and Albert Tomlin had never seemed interested.

Martha put away her memories and regrets and gathered her courage. She was about to open the door and go inside Sally’s place of business when someone behind her said, “You’re the one I’m lookin’ for, honey. What’s your price?”

Martha turned to see a large snaggletoothed man with a two-day beard grinning at her. He had big ears and a scar under one bleary eye.

“How’s about it?” he said. “You’re not busy, and I got the cash. Let’s go in and do some business.”

“And I’m him.” The man reached into his pocket and brought out a coin. Holding it up, he said, “See what I mean?”

Martha realized that she had made a grave mistake. She didn’t know how to deal with people like this, and she should never have come here. The man called Fargo might not even be here. She tried to push her way past the man and leave.

Her shawl came away in his hand, and Martha started to run away. The man was too quick for her. He caught her and pulled her to him.

“You can’t get away that easy,” he said, giving her a strong whiff of his beery breath. He puckered his lips and smacked them several times. “Give us a little kiss.”

“Don’t do that.” The man put a hand over her mouth while pressing her to him with his encircling arm. “Let’s just have a little fun.”

He dragged Martha toward the entrance of a nearby alley as she kicked her feet and tried to scream. But with his hand blocking her mouth, screaming was impossible.

Martha stumbled against the wall of a building. As she righted herself, she saw that a man dressed in buckskins was holding the one who had accosted her against the wall.

The man in buckskins turned his head to look at Martha. “My name’s Fargo,” he said. “Are you having some trouble with this fella?”

Fargo had the other man pushed up against the wall with one hand on his chest. Fargo’s other hand held a knife with the point touching the skin under the man’s stubbled chin.

Martha took a deep breath, released it, and said, “There was a misunderstanding. I believe this man thought I worked for Mrs. Garvin. I tried to persuade him otherwise, but he didn’t understand.”

The man started to nod, but the knife under his chin pricked him and prevented him from doing so. Fargo moved the knife a fraction of an inch.

“If you want to visit one of Sally’s girls, you go right ahead. But remember, I’m right here if you cause any more trouble.”

He turned and went back down the boardwalk to Sally’s. He paused outside the door for a few seconds as if considering the wisdom of entering. Then he looked back at Fargo, shook his head, and went inside.

Fargo picked up Martha’s shawl and handed it to her. As she draped it over her shoulders, he said, “I’m sorry that happened. I’m supposed to make sure there’s no trouble at Miss Garvin’s place, and it looks like I fell down on the job.”

“You weren’t at fault at all, Mr. Fargo,” Martha said. “And I’m pleased to meet you. In fact, you’re the reason I’m here.”

Fargo grinned. “I didn’t think you looked like one of Sally’s usual customers. But I don’t think I know you, so why would you be looking for me?”

“My name is Martha Lawrence. I’m Judge Lawrence’s daughter. I overheard your name in a conversation this evening.”

“What I have to tell you has to do with the Bryan brothers,” Martha said. “Could we go somewhere that we could talk without being overheard?”

Sally was there, of course, along with Saint Louis Lou and Belle. The man who had tried to enlist Martha in his evening’s endeavors had already made his choice and gone upstairs with one of the others.

Fargo introduced Martha, who looked a little abashed at being there. For their part, the other women behaved as if someone from Martha’s part of town dropped in every evening of the week for tea. They told her they were “charmed” to meet her, and Sally welcomed her graciously.

“Miss Lawrence has come looking for me to tell me about some old friends,” Fargo said. “If it’s all right, I’d like to talk to her in my room.”

Belle giggled, and Sally gave her a hard look. “Talking’s all you have in mind?” she said, turning to Fargo.

He could tell by her smile that she wasn’t the jealous type and that she wouldn’t mind at all if he intended to do a few other things.

Fargo led the way upstairs to the little room that he was using. It was down at the end of the hall, past the rooms the women used, and in passing them Fargo and Martha could hear the sounds of passion from behind the closed doors. It could have been Fargo’s imagination, but it seemed to him that Martha took quite an interest in what she heard and that she slowed her steps just a bit to allow herself to listen.

When they reached his room, Fargo went inside to light the lamp. Martha followed him when the wick was burning, and Fargo set the lamp on the little washstand that was the only furniture in the room aside from the bed.

Fargo hadn’t thought of the awkward situation that now arose. If they sat, they’d have to sit on the bed.

Martha walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, her feet primly together on the floor, her hands folded in her lap. “I can sit here,” she said.

Although Fargo’s room was at the end of the hall, he could hear a bed squeaking. Probably in Kansas Kate’s room, he thought.

“It’s not so much different from anywhere else,” Fargo said. “But maybe you’d better have your say and go home before anybody finds out you’re here.”

Martha smoothed her dress and took off her shawl. Fargo went over to take it from her. He folded it up and laid it on the washstand by the pitcher and bowl.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable having to stand?” Martha said. “You can sit here beside me. Since no one can see us, there won’t be any scandal.”

Fargo sat on the bed. It sagged a little under his weight, and Martha leaned toward him, their shoulders momentarily touching.

Fargo moved away, but he thought that Martha wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t. “What did you come down to this part of town to tell me?” he said, since it seemed as if she wasn’t going to get to it.