Prescott was originally known as Granite Creek; the town site was surveyed and laid out in 1864 near the area where gold had just been discovered, and at that time it was renamed.
In the ensuing years Prescott was on its way to becoming the commercial hub of the Arizona Territory. That was inducement enough for Ike Silver to leave California with his family and once again make a new beginning. That new beginning would begin with the purchase of a general store.
They stood near the corner of Bravo and Sun Up Streets outside a large building flanked by a good-sized stable, looking at the sign.
PRESCOTT GENERAL STORE
SUPPLIES—LIVERY
And on the door there was another sign.
TEMPORARILY CLOSED
The onlookers consisted of Big Ike, Jake, the two boys, Sister Bonney, Binky, Ben Brown and his family, Sean Dolan and some of Dolan’s men. They had left most of the animals and empty wagons at Fort Whipple to be brought in the next day by army teamsters.
It was almost sundown on Sun Up Street as an older man with a slight limp and a knotted cane came out of the stable door, squinted through a pair of crinkled eyes on a weathered face framed by a neatly trimmed gray beard, and spoke out of the right side of his mouth.
“Howdy there, strangers.” He waved the cane and moved closer. “Any of you be called Silver?”
“I be.” Ike smiled and pointed. “So be my brother and two sons.”
“Scotty. Scotty Simpson. Work for Mrs. Winthrop, sorta. Night watchman, sorta—and all ’round I-don’t-know-what. Glad to meet ya. I’ll be sure Mrs. Winthrop’s here to meet ya tomorrow.”
“Appreciate it,” Ike said.
“You’ll be wantin’ a place to stay the night—Hassayampa Hotel. Place to eat—Sweisgood’s Restaurant. Place to drink—Brady’s Bar. That about covers it.”
“Say, Mister Simpson,”—Ben Brown took a step forward—“you think it’d be all right if me and my family camped behind the stable for the night?”
“Camp in the stable if you want, if you don’t mind my company.”
“Mister Brown,” Ike said, “why don’t you—”
“The stable will be fine, Mister Silver. And thank you, Mister Simpson.”
“Mister Simpson.” Scotty smiled. “Haven’t heard that in years.”
“Ike, the boys and I’ll be in Brady’s Bar,” Dolan said, “wettin’ our windpipes, if you care to join us later.”
“I’ll join you now,” Binky said, “and so will my windpipe—if you don’t mind.”
“Come on.”
“Sister, would you come with us?” Ike asked.
“Mister Silver, under the circumstances, I believe I will.”
“Fine. Scotty, see you tomorrow.”
“You bet.”
Sister Bonney wanted to pay for her room at the Hassayampa Hotel, but Ike convinced her otherwise, on account of payment for nursing services rendered to Colorados on the journey to Fort Whipple.
After they checked in, Jake, Sister Bonney and the boys strolled over to Sweisgood’s Restaurant, while Ike opted for Brady’s Bar and a drink or two with Sean Dolan.
Brady’s Bar was a saloon like just about any other frontier saloon—a dozen round tables surrounded by Douglas chairs, a scarred and stained bar, sawdust on a wood floor beneath a tin ceiling.
Big Ike joined Dolan, Binky and the boys at the bar, bought a round, then nodded toward one of the tables, which was occupied by two players and a monumental pile of money. One of the players was male, the other female. Most of the money was in front of the female.
The male looked nervous, sweaty and consumptive; the female was a stone overweight, had orange hair, two raspberry slashes on the surface of her full lips and a confident look in her verdant green eyes. Her face was still beautiful and didn’t need all the paint and powder she had laid on to it, but without it she wouldn’t look as much like a saloon gal as she was supposed to.
Most of the players at the other tables had stopped playing and now stood among the other spectators watching the high stakes poker game. Among the standing spectators near the table were Rupert Lessur, smoking a long, thin cigar, and Jim Gallagher, a half step behind him with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, watching silently.
“Looks interesting,” Ike said. “Who are the players?”
“That’s what I asked.” Dolan smiled.
“Did you find out?”
“That lunger is Brady. Owns the joint . . . as of now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I think they’re about to play for the bar and everything in it.”
“Who’s the lady?”
“Name’s Belinda. Belinda Millay. She ain’t exactly a lady.”
“No?”
“No. From what I gather she started out some time ago as one of Brady’s saloon gals and worked her way up.”
“To what?”
“Junior partner, plyin’ her trade, but mostly playin’ poker with Brady—to what looks like a showdown tonight.”
“That is interesting. Think I’ll go over and watch.”
Ike made his way to the table.
Brady dealt.
Big Ike watched. He didn’t like what he saw.
A granite-faced giant stood behind Belinda Millay, looking across at Brady as the owner dealt out the cards. The giant also looked down at Millay’s hand, then rubbed his chin with two fingers.
“How many?” Brady asked after he studied his cards and smiled.
“Just a minute.” Belinda looked at her cards again.
“Sure. Take your time. Tell you what, Belinda. How about this one game—for the whole shebang?”
“The whole shebang?”
“That’s right. Brady’s Bar, lock, stock, and key to the door, for what you’ve got on the table. Must be close to three thousand.”
“Or more,” Belinda said.
“Is it a bet?”
“It’s a bet.”
“Then how many cards?” Brady glanced up at granite face.
Just then Ike Silver stepped in front of the giant.
“Hey!” the giant said. “You’re obstructin’ my view!”
“No.” Ike nodded toward Brady. “I’m obstructing his view.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I think you know and so does Mister Brady.”
“Why, you lousy bastard!” The giant grabbed Ike’s shoulder and started to spin him around fast.
Ike spun faster and shot a right uppercut into the giant’s chin that snapped his head back, then dropped him hard onto the sawdust.
“Now you can go on with you your game, Mister Brady.”
Ike tipped his hat to the lady.
“Good night, ma’am.”