THIS IS HOW I ALMOST got the bulge on Mrs. Violetta De Baskerville.

It was Tuesday afternoon, almost a week after I first arrived in Carson. The Legislature had adjourned early for the big wedding, to which all the legislators & reporters had been invited. Barry had decided to go, so I was in my room at Mrs. Murphy’s, dressed in my comfortable buckskin trowsers & flannel shirt and writing up my report of the day, when I heard a tap at my window.

It was Miss Carrie Pixley.

“Why ain’t you at the wedding?” she cried.

I said, “I thought your Beloved might invite you.”

“He didn’t,” she wailed. “You have got to go there and spy for me!”

I was going to tell her I had to finish my report for Jace when she added, “All the pretty spinsters and widows in the Territory will be there, too, and I think he has eyes for one of them.”

When she said “widows” I thought of Violetta. This might be my chance to get the bulge on her.

But how could I spy on her without her knowing?

I was pretty sure she had recognized me in my Jewish Phonographic Boy Disguise and she knew my Night Shadow Disguise, too. There was no way I was going to wear my Blind Widow Disguise. If I did, someone might want to dance with me. A Chinese Boy, Negro or Indian would not be allowed in. What could I do?

I sent up an arrow prayer to the Almighty and he sent an idea right back.

I knew the wedding was being held in the Chamber of the Second House, the room where I had fainted. I could go in the back door & hide behind the crimson curtain draped against the back wall. If I poked a small hole in the curtain I might be able to see what was happening.

“All right,” I said to Carrie, “I will do it. I can hide behind a curtain and see what is happening.”

I quickly changed into my Jewish Phonographic Boy Disguise. That way if someone caught me behind the curtain I could say I was looking for a lost pencil, or similar.

I went round to the back entrance of the Great Basin Hotel & up the stairs. I opened the door a crack & peeped in.

The ceremony must have just finished because everybody was cheering and facing away from me. I slipped inside & slid behind the curtain & found a natural hole in the fabric, which meant I did not even have to cut one.

Now I could see the bride in a puffy white dress with a wreath around her head and a big lacy veil falling down behind. She was standing next to the groom, a man of medium height with a beard like a bib.

He was shaking hands with guests.

She was accepting something else: kisses.

I saw Sam Clemens plant a kiss full on the bride’s lips. At first I was dismayed, and wondered what to tell Carrie. Then I saw that every man in the line was kissing her. Even Governor Nye.

I could not bear to watch this serial kissing so I averted my gaze. In so doing I saw something that shocked me even more.

Mrs. Violetta De Baskerville was also kissing somebody. It was the man with the floppy chestnut-colored hair she had been speaking to in the gallery on Saturday afternoon. They were hidden behind one of the wood-burning stoves where only I could see them.

I thought, “Dang my buttons! Violetta is being False to Jace.”

Twang!

I nearly jumped out of my skin as somebody twanged a banjo right by my left ear.

Some musicians were standing on the platform usually occupied by the Speaker of the House and they commenced playing. Couples began to pair off and twirl around the room.

The organizers of the fandango had put a long table right in front of my crimson-curtain hiding place. This table was laid out with cake & champagne. There were also plates & forks & glasses. Sam Clemens and Clement T. Rice had retreated from the dancing to congregate there. They each had a glass in one hand and a piece of cake in the other. Like me, their attention was on Mrs. Violetta De Baskerville, who was being swirled around the room by the man who had been kissing her.

“Who is that clean-shaven young man with floppy chestnut-colored hair and long-lashed brown eyes?” drawled Sam Clemens. “The one dancing with Mrs. De Baskerville?”

“His name is Con Mason,” said Clement T. Rice, through a mouthful of cake. “He arrived in town last week. Been hanging around the Legislature. Probably hoping to get himself a Toll Road Franchise like everybody else in the Territory.”

“I believe I will try for one of them Toll Roads,” said Sam Clemens. “I might try for a dance with that widow, too.”

“She is a fine-looking lady,” said Clement T. Rice. “But beware: they say she packs a pistol.”

Sam Clemens pointed with his fork. “Lo and behold! Here comes Dr. Pugh with determination on his countenance and resolution in his step. I believe he is going to try to cut in. Let us see how he fares.”

The dance had ended & gray-haired Dr. Pugh was bowing to Violetta & saying something to her. I guess he was asking for the next dance. But instead of saying yes, she gave her head a little shake and caught Mr. Chestnut Hair’s hand and pulled him to one side.

“Shot down without mercy,” said the chubby reporter, dropping crumbs from a new piece of cake.

Sometimes I can read people’s lips.

I could see Violetta clearly so I watched her red mouth closely. I thought I saw her say, “Will you meet me tonight?”

Mr. Con Mason nodded.

She said something else I could not decipher because she was standing on tiptoe and whispering right in his ear.

Mr. Con Mason’s cheeks grew bright pink.

“Man is the only animal that blushes,” remarked Sam Clemens. “Or needs to.”

At that moment I felt something scrabbling at my ankle.

It was Sazerac, the silent lapdog! Attracted by the patter of cake crumbs he had come to investigate and thus discovered my hiding place.

He was not entirely silent, for he was making that strange wheezy whining sound.

“Sazzy!” I heard Dr. Pugh call over the music. “Sazzy, where you got to?”

“Skedaddle!” I hissed to Sazzy. “Git!”

But Sazzy did not skedaddle. Suddenly I realized what Sazzy wanted. I always keep maple sugar in one of my pockets and beef jerky in the other, in case I am overtaken by hunger.

The lapdog must have smelled the jerky. I reached into my pocket & fished around in there & found a piece of jerky & dropped it on the floor.

Sazzy settled down happily to chew it.

“Not right there,” I hissed, giving the dog a nudge with my toe. “Somewhere else. Vamoose!”

“That is a mighty strange dog,” came the voice of Sam Clemens from the other side of the curtain, “with his silent bark and immodest tail. I have heard he is addicted to fleas.”

“You were misinformed,” said the other. “They do not make fleas at this altitude.”

“What has he found behind that curtain?” drawled Sam Clemens.

“Perhaps it is a rat,” offered Clement T. Rice.

“Looks like something bigger,” said Clemens.

“Shall we investigate?” said Rice.

“Sazzy!” cried Dr. Pugh.

“Here, sir!” cried the reporters in unison.

They were all coming straight for me!

I started edging towards the door but Sazzy wanted more jerky and had commenced tugging my trowser cuff. I reckon he thought it was a jolly game, but when the whole curtain fell down around us it was no joke.

The music screeched to a halt and everybody started yelling.

That lapdog had flushed me out of my hiding place. Using the curtain as a cover, I ran along the wall and out the back door. Then, shedding the heavy curtain, I fled down the stairs and into the night and back to the safety of my boardinghouse.

That was a shame, because the next day I found out that Con Mason with the floppy chestnut hair had been shot and killed later that night.