Scene 3: The Hornswoggle
And it's with a little regret that I think of how I pushed them back
And crowded them out to claim this land for myself or for another country
But the Indians' hearts must have been full of music
For they left names with me that seem to sing
-Johnny Cash, “Ride This Train”
April 27, 1875 - 7:00 am
The morning of April 27th began as an ordinary day in Dusthaven, for Cole at least. He’d left his hotel that morning, and found that the streets were still no busier than the day before. This was odd to him because the weather seemed even more favorable, with cool temperatures persisting well into the morning, and no strange folk from the medicine show loitering about. He thought that perhaps Owley did not know the real reason why people were not coming out after all. In fact, the town’s lack of business seemed even more suspicious to him as he crossed to the railway station.
When Cole entered the station, he noticed a young woman talking to the station master. She looked a little fearful, and her raised voice made it impossible for him not to overhear. Mr. Clancy seemed to know her, calling her Clara. She seemed quite concerned about her fiancée, apparently named Samuel, a local miner who was traveling on Pioneer Express. When Cole walked up, she was reminding the station master that she had been there for the past three days looking for him, and now she was quite upset.
Mr. Clancy tried to reassure her, but he didn't do a very good job. "Miss Clara, I assure you, I'm doing everything in my power to find any information. Perhaps he—"
"Doing everything? Like you did last time, when you sent my letter to the wrong town? Or when you lost those supplies? This isn't just some mishap! Samuel could be out there...alone...or worse!"
"I understand your concern, Miss Clara, but you must trust me. The desert is unpredictable, and...sometimes things don't go as planned."
"Unpredictable? That’s what you call it? I've heard whispers, Clancy. Strange things out there in the badlands—"
"Ah, Bridgewater, there you are." Orin Owley sidled up to Cole. "What's happening there?"
"Her fiancée's missing apparently, on your railroad." Owley looked honestly shocked.
"That's the first time I've heard of anything like that." He set his face determinedly. "I'll ask Mr. Clancy about this personally when we're done." He ushered Cole back to the rail company office, where a rotund man in an expensive suit waits for them. "May I present Asa Worthington, the Vice President of Pioneer Express Railways. Mr. Worthington, Cole Bridgewater - the lawyer our people back East hired."."
"Pleased to meet you," Worthington chomped on a thick acrid-smelling cigar. "Let me show you the paperwork. We're already days behind schedule."
"The pleasure is mine, sir. Just out of curiosity, what makes this so late? So far it seems very routine to me."
"Last lawyer they sent out here disappeared." Worthington shrugged. "We assumed the Injuns got him but they all say they have no idea what happened to him. I don't believe them, though. A lot of them think this deal is a hornswoggle."
"A… hornswoggle?"
"A bamboozle. A trick to steal their land and ship 'em to a reservation somewhere."
"And is this a… hornswoggle?" Cole asked.
"Of COURSE it's a hornswoggle!" Worthington seemed a bit exasperated. "That's the only way to deal with these people. We need this land, and we need it pacified. This is how business gets done, son. Who cares about a bunch of worthless Indians anyway?"
"We'll make this very simple for you, Cole. Either you deliver our terms and get the Indians to sign them, or your worthless hide will be on the next train home," said Owley.
"So I'm to be blamed for this if it goes badly?"
"Tomorrow you and Owley are going out to their camp. We'll give you some whiskey - get them to drink it, and they'll sign whatever you want. After that, me and the Marshal will take care of it. We'll make it very worth your while." Worthington winked, and exhaled a hefty puff of fragrant smoke from his cigar.
Cole left the office, and sat down on one of the benches by the platform. He couldn't count the ways that this could go wrong, but he was here in Dusthaven where the railroad reigned so he felt he'd better go along with the plan for now. He noticed that Miss Clara had left the station, and asked Clancy about her.
Clancy seemed a bit cautious about how he spoke of her. “Miss Clara is, well, she’s a miner’s lady. Blunt but usually honest. I have no idea what happened to her fiancée; I didn’t even know she’d been in here before.”
Remembering his own concern for Geneviève, Cole asked “Do people often go missing around here?”
“This ‘Samuel’ isn’t the first one to disappear out here,” said Clancy. “People go missing all the time. The desert is a dangerous and unforgiving place. I mean, for all we know Samuel probably found another girl, or a better deal somewhere else.”
“Do you know where I can find her?” Cole thought she might know something about other disappearances around. She’d mentioned strange rumors.
“No, I don’t know where to find her.” Clancy looked around furtively. “And if I were you, I’d not go poking too deep into this if I knew what was good for me.” With that, Clancy turned and took a stronger interest in auditing the tickets for the day.
Leaving the station, Cole thought about where he might find some answers about the rumors of strange goings-on in the badlands. The saloon seemed the most likely place to hear some rumors, so he crossed the street again, and walked into the establishment.
Cole entered the saloon and found that it was still oddly deserted, except now there were a few more people. They were talking and laughing nervously, except for one man at the bar who was laughing uproariously. He was dressed in dirty cowboy garb, prominently displaying a pair of six-guns, with a bandoleer of shotgun shells across his chest. He had bad teeth and an ill-maintained, greasy mustache. He looked, to Cole, about as stereotypical of an outlaw as it was possible to be.
Cole turned around and started to walk out when the dirty man turned to him and said “Hey, Chauncey! Where you going? Get your butt in here and sit down.” He patted the seat next to himself. Cole walked over and sat down with some trepidation. “Yeah, I seen you last night at the medicine show didn’t I, ogling that dancer? You could get in an accident hanging around with people like that, Chauncey.” His breath smelled strongly of rotgut whiskey and other things that Cole didn’t want to speculate on.
“What was so dangerous about the show?” he asked. The man brayed laughter and more rotgut stench into his face.
“Shit fire, you could get yourself vanished, just like that pretty little filly. Wouldn’t that be a right shame, there, Chauncey?”
Well, thought Cole. This certainly qualifies as a strange creature from the badlands, just as the good Reverend warned about. He could tell that the man was trying to provoke him, but wasn’t sure what he would do if Cole didn’t rise to the bait. So he ordered a whiskey and started to drink it. The man gave him a shove.
Cole asked him, "Do you actually know what happened to the dancer from the show, or are you, what is the expression, pulling my leg?"
“Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t. What are you going to do about it, Chauncey?”
“I take it that you would like to fight,” Cole answered.
“Hell yeah, now you’re talkin’!” Cole, remembering the boxing lessons his father had made him take, started off with a right cross that connected to the man’s jaw. Either because of the rotgut or the man’s essential toughness, this didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“YEEE HAWWW!” He bellowed, and smacked Cole right between the eyes. Stars revolved in his vision. Shaking off the pain, Cole threw another punch but it didn’t connect, and he was able to throw off the outlaw’s next punch.
“Mister McGraw,” a voice from behind the outlaw said. “I think you better leave now, before I tell that bounty hunter who has been poking around where to find you.” Orin Owley had walked into the bar during the fight, and was now observing the fight. The outlaw backed off, but warned Cole “Big Daddy Railroad ain’t always going to be around to protect you,” before stalking out of the saloon.
Owley turned to Cole. “You fight like a woman,” he said.
“That bloke didn’t follow the Queensbury rules,” Cole retorted. “Otherwise I’d have had him. Besides, he said he knew what happened to Geneviève.”
Owley snorted with laughter. “That’s “Mad Dog” McGraw. Runs with Viper Callahan’s band of hooligans. That bunch would never stoop to kidnapping a dancer - it would attract far too much attention. I suspect we had better forget about her - she isn’t that important in the grand scheme of things. If I were you I’d worry more about Mad Dog coming after you again. He’s as crazy as a road lizard.”
Cole returned to his earlier goal of trying to find out what was happening in the badlands, but that was considerably tougher with Mad Dog McGraw involved. No one, other than Owley, seemed to want to get on his bad side. And that apparently included reporting on his activities. If nothing else, the tussle with McGraw had definitely cemented Cole’s reputation as a “greenhorn”.