Valley of the Chug
Biff Johnson had named his saloon Fiddler’s Green after the cavalry legend that says all cavalrymen who have ever heard the call “Boots and Saddles” will gather on a cool glen in the afterlife, and there, they will share drinks and tell tall tales.
Biff was sitting next to the piano at a special table reserved only for him or his personal guests. As it was still relatively early in the day, there weren’t that many customers in the saloon at the moment. The piano was quiet, but the piano player, anticipating a busy afternoon, was arranging some music.
“Jim, do you know what today is?” Biff asked.
“Why, yes, sir, it’s Thursday.. In another hour you won’t have to ask, you will be able to tell by the size of the crowd.”
“It isn’t just Thursday. It’s June twenty-fourth. Tomorrow it will be exactly ten years ago since it happened.”
“Since what happened?”
Biff nodded toward the recently acquired painting, Custer’s Last Fight, by Cassilly Adams. The large painting occupied a prominent position on the wall behind the bar.
“Since that happened,” Biff said.
“Oh yes, I see.”
“Play ‘Garry Owen’ for me.”
One of the first things Jim Siffer had to agree to, upon taking the job in the saloon, was to learn to play the song that belonged to the 7th Cavalry.
As the music came from the piano, Biff found his thoughts slipping back ten years, to the 25th of June, 1876.
* * *
Sergeant Major Biff Johnson had come up with Benteen. Biff thought they would be going to relieve Custer, because Custer had sent a note issuing that very order, but Benteen stopped to reinforce Reno.
“Major Reno, Captain Benteen, we must go to relieve General Custer!” Captain Tom Weir pleaded.
“No doubt Custer is covering himself in even more glory now,” Benteen replied. “We will maintain a defensive position here.”
“Sir, with or without your permission, I am taking my company to join Custer,” Weir said.
“Captain, if you will allow me, I’ll go with you,” Biff said.
“You are welcome to come along, Sergeant Major,” Captain Weir said.
But Captain Weir’s single company encountered stiff Indian resistance and was unable to rendezvous with Custer. They were forced to withdraw, where they rejoined Reno and Benteen.
The next day, after the Indians withdrew, Sergeant Major Biff Johnson was in charge of the burial detail.
* * *
Now, ten years later, he was still haunted by the sight of 206 men, stripped, pale, mutilated, and scattered over the field, an image that filled his mind as Jim Siffer continued to play.
As the last notes of “Garry Owen” echoed through the nearly empty saloon, Biff saw his friend Duff MacCallister coming through the front door.
“Duff,” he called, thankful to put the troubling memories aside.
“Biff, m’ friend, ’n how does this day find ye?” Duff asked.
“Fit as a fiddle,” Biff replied. “I’m surprised you’re here with me, when you could be visiting with Miss Meagan,” Biff said.
Duff glanced up at the clock. “Aye, ’n in five more minutes of the clock I will be,” he said. “The lass ’n I will be taking our lunch at Tacky Mack’s Café.”
“The lady still has some cattle parked on your ranch, doesn’t she?” Biff asked.
“Aye, that she does.”
Biff chuckled. “That explains it, then. I can’t see any other reason why such a beautiful young woman would have anything to do with an ugly old bum like you.”
“Perhaps I should always keep ye at m’ side, Biff. ’Tis said that you’re so ugly the stork sent a letter of apology to yer mum. Next to you, I’d be an Adonis.”
Biff laughed. “You know what they say. Ugly on the outside, handsome on the inside.”
“Aye, Biff, ye are a good mon, I’ll be the first to say that.”
Without being asked to do so, Siffer began playing “Scotland the Brave.”
“Ye’ve my thanks for that, Mr. Siffer,” Duff said.
“It can’t compare with the way you play it on the pipes,” Siffer replied. “But it’s a good song, even on the piano.”
“Aye, that it is, ’n no matter how it’s played, it takes me back to m’ Highlands.”
“I’m a bit melancholy myself today,” Biff said.
“Oh?”
Biff shared his memories of the battle at Little Bighorn with Duff, and though he had told the story a few times before, Duff listened without interruption. He knew that telling the story was Biff’s way of dealing with it.
Because of Duff’s own troubled past, he knew that such unpleasant memories could never be totally erased; they could only be padded over, like a pearl in an oyster shell. And Biff’s telling of the story added another layer onto the oyster.
Chugwater was the closest town to Sky Meadow, and as such it was the town where Duff did most of his business. The little town had been moribund until a railroad, connecting Cheyenne with Fort Laramie, passed through the town, saving it from extinction.
Before the arrival of the railroad, all the ranchers were required to drive their cattle to Cheyenne so they could be shipped to the eastern markets. And though that posed no major problem to the large ranchers who had many hands to make the drive, it was almost impossible for the small ranchers, who couldn’t afford drovers to help them. The railroad had been a particular boon to them.
After leaving the saloon, Duff walked down the street to visit with Meagan Parker. Miss Parker owned Meagan’s Dress Emporium, which was one of the most successful business operations in all of Chugwater. And, as Biff had pointed out to Duff, she also owned several head of cattle that were intermingled with Duff’s herd.
Originally Meagan’s participation in the ranch had been the result of a loan she had made to Duff, but when he attempted to pay her back, she said she would rather him consider it an investment.
Meagan and Duff were, as the women of the town explained to anyone who might ask about their relationship, courting. It had been an extended courtship . . . Meagan wasn’t ready to give up her dress shop and move out to Sky Meadow, and Duff didn’t want to move in to Chugwater. But though they had never finalized their relationship by way of marriage vows . . . the affection they felt for each other was none the weaker for any lack of documentation.
“Would ye be for takin’ yer lunch with me at Tacky Mack’s?” Duff asked.
“Aye, ’n ’twould be the greatest o’ pleasures for ter be seen dinin’ with m’ mon in such a foine place now,” Meagan teased, perfectly mimicking Duff’s Scottish brogue.
“Och, lass, ’n ter hear you, ’twould make one think ye be Scottish born, ’n raised in the heather.”
“Well, are we going to stand here jawboning all day, or are you going to feed me?” Meagan asked, laughing.
“Mary Ellen, I’m going to lunch. Keep an eye on things for me, would you?”
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Parker,” her employee replied.
“How is your new girl working out?” Duff asked after they left the shop.
“Oh, she has been a wonderful help, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep her.”
“Is she that expensive for you?”
“No, not at all, and I’ll keep her as long as I can. But she’s sweet on that cowboy that works for Mr. Prescott . . . I mean Houser. Actually he’s more than just a cowboy, he’s the foreman, Ben Turley.”
“Aye, Turley is a good mon.”
“A good man that may wind up taking Mary Ellen away from me.”
During the three-block walk to Tacky Mack’s, conversation turned to Sky Meadow Ranch, and Duff had Meagan laughing about the barbs Elmer and Wang had exchanged with each other this morning.
“They argue like children, but either one of them would take a bullet for the other one,” Duff said.
“Or for you,” Meagan added.
“Aye, lass, or for me.”
* * *
Rudy York owned the café, and he had named it Tacky Mack, after his son, Mack. Tacky Mack’s Café used a black-and-white color scheme. The walls were black, halfway up, and white the rest of the way. Even the wooden floor was painted in checkerboard squares of black and white. York was a large man with white hair and a gregarious smile. He greeted all his customers by name if he knew them, and he did so now, as Duff and Meagan stepped into his place of business.
“Duff MacCallister and Miss Meagan Parker,” York greeted effusively. “Welcome, welcome, come with me, I’ll find a nice table by the window for you.”
“Thank you, Rudy,” Duff said.
“Duff, I know how much you like lamb,” York said. “I got some in fresh today.”
“Great! ’Tis lamb chops I’ll be havin’, then.”
“And I, as well,” Meagan said.
“Good, two lamb chop dinners it shall be,” York said, leaving to see to their orders.
“Lamb chops? Did I hear you say that you want lamb chops? No self-respecting cattleman would ever eat lamb.” The speaker was a large man, bald, but with a full, and bushy, black beard. He was sitting at a table very near to the one where Duff and Meagan had been seated.
“Merlin Goodman, sure now, ’n the best o’ the mornin’ to ye,” Duff replied to the loudmouthed gentlemen who had made the derisive comment about lamb chops.
Goodman’s Mountain Shadows Ranch was one of the eight very large ranches in the Valley of the Chugwater, but it was considerably smaller than Sky Meadow.
“You can keep your greetin’. I want you to answer me,” Goodman said. “Do you, the largest cattleman in the valley, actually intend to sit here, in front of God and ever’ body else, ’n eat lamb?”
“I like lamb,” Duff said.
Goodman turned to address the other diners in the café. “Now, I ask you folks, what kind of man would eat lamb? Ever’ one knows that anybody who would eat lamb ain’t fittin’ to be around.”
“Why, Mr. Goodman,” Meagan said sweetly. “Didn’t the Lord Himself eat lamb?”
“Ha! She’s got you there, Merlin,” one of the other diners said.
“Give me m’ bill, York,” Goodman said in a blustering voice. “Maybe the Scotsman is goin’ to eat it, but I sure as hell don’t have to stay here ’n watch it. Pardon the language, ma’am,” he added quickly to Meagan.
“Merlin, ’n would that be meanin’ I’m to take you off the guest list for m’ lamb supper next Easter?” Duff called to him as he left the café in a huff. The others in the café laughed.
“I tell you the truth, Duff,” Bob Guthrie said. Guthrie owned the lumber and building supply company. “I probably like lamb as much as you do, but I’d never eat it out in public. Why, I’d more ’n likely lose half my customers if I did that.”
“We’ve nae such problems as this back in Scotland,” Duff said. “We have sheep and cattle raised right next to each other. Some farmers grow both and turn them out to graze in the same field. ’Tisn’t true what the ranchers believe about sheep destroying the grass.”
“I doubt we’ll ever see anything like that here,” Guthrie replied. “You folks enjoy your meal now,” he added as he stepped over to the counter to pay for his lunch.
During their lunch, Charley Blanton, editor of the Chugwater Defender, came into the café.
“Hello, Rudy,” Charley said. He held up a stack of papers. “Here’s today’s issue.”
“I hope you leave me enough today. We were sold out by two o’clock yesterday,” York replied as he took money from the cash box to pay for the papers that had been sold the previous day.
“If they’re selling that well, you might want to consider increasing your ad space,” Charley suggested.
Rudy chuckled. “That’s what I like about you, Charley. You’re always selling.”
Charley saw Duff and Meagan at a nearby table.
“Good morning to you, Duff, and to you, Miss Meagan,” Charley greeted.
“Hello, Charley,” Duff replied. “Tell me, lad, how goes the continuing fight of the free press for truth, justice, and dare I say it, Scotsman that I am, the American way?”
“It is good that you would make such an inquiry, my friend,” Charley replied. “With the newspaper as our mighty shield, we move forth with resolute valor and absolute determination!” Delivering his response in oratory fashion, Charley held up his finger to make a point.
“More honor to ye,” Duff said.
“Miss Meagan, if you would like, I can just give you your paper here and tell the boy not to drop one off at your dress shop. That way, you can have a look at your ad.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blanton, that would be nice.”
Charley took a paper from the stack he had set by the cash box and handed it to her.
Meagan separated the pages of the newspaper then leafed through the pages in search.
“Ah, this is what I was looking for,” Meagan said a moment later. She turned the newspaper around so that Duff could see the page she was speaking of. It featured an advertisement for her store.
LADIES’ APPAREL
FINEST garments made according to latest fashion
MEAGAN’S DRESS EMPORIUM
“I see nae need for ye to be advertising, lass, since you are the only dressmaking store in town,” Duff said.
“When you’re in business, it never hurts to toot your own horn,” Meagan replied with a broad smile. “And it also supports the local paper. You do agree with that, don’t you?”
“Aye, lass, that I can agree with.”