Summary: Adam Cartwright has a lot of things to deal with: burglars, unwanted newspaper articles about his family, and someone who doesn’t want to saddle a horse. Will he at least be able to survive the whole mess? A WHN for Enter Mark Twain, in a way.

31,100 words, rated T

My Story Index and reading order for the Art-Universe

 

The Art of Horse Selling

Chapter 1

A Strange Lady

Sheriff Roy Coffee checked his pocket watch and shook his head in wonder. This had to be the first time ever that the stage coach from San Francisco arrived not only on time but even half an hour earlier than scheduled. Clem, the driver, gave him a wide grin and went to unload freight and luggage from the roof. Roy watched Josiah, the station manager’s son, setting the footstool in front of the stage to get the passengers an easier exit.

When the stage door opened it came apparent that there was only one passenger. A lady, Roy thought. A real lady. Even though her face and her elegant fawn traveling costume were covered in the fine yellow dust of the Sierras, just like every traveler’s outfit had been before her, she featured the posture of a person who knew their place in the world. She untied the pale blue scarf that had protected her hair. Now, what was seen there wasn’t very ladylike, Roy thought. Dark honey coloured hair, tied up into an untidy loose bun showed that this woman had no coiffeur skills at all. Or that she didn’t care.

When Clem handed her a dark red carpet bag she smiled at him. “Thank you very much, good man. Also for the safe trip. You did fine labour; I appreciate that very much.”

Clem, lowering his head, hid a sheepish grin. “Well, you was okay yerself, Lady!”

She gave him a somehow surprised glance, and with a barely suppressed chuckle replied, “Well, thank you, I suppose…chap.”

She turned to Roy, and, after a glance at his star, she gave him a short acknowledging nod. “Uh, consta—, ahem, sheriff, you don’t happen to know a boarding house belonging to a Widow Hawkins?”

“’Course I do. Best house in town. Can’t find a better place ta stay, Lady. It’s jest down C-Street here on the left hand side, y’can’t miss it, it‘s gotta big plate in the garden.”

“Very good. Maybe the boy can take my luggage there.”

It wasn’t a question. From her it sounded like an order. And sure enough Josiah picked up the bag and sped away. Much to Roy’s amusement he even forgot to hold his dirty fingers out to collect the usual reward for his services. The lady seemed to consider this as appropriate behaviour and watched approvingly as the boy skittered away.

She turned to Roy again and raised an eyebrow. “You certainly can point me to the Territorial Enterprise bureau, too.” Again, it wasn’t a question, but an imperative.

“Same way, Lady, just down the street a few blocks from here. Then turn right into A-Street. It’s jest opposite the Silver Dollar saloon.”

Roy received a short nod of thanks, and then the lady straightened her back, gave them a last distracted smile, turned and walked away. Roy and Clem gazed after her for a long time, watching her stalking down C-Street. Very upright, chin raised and with confident strides, she gave no indication that she was a foreigner in this town.

Eventually Roy cleared his throat. “Never seen anyone like her. Who is she?”

Clem shook his head. “I don’t rightly know; never said her name, that one. But the way she walks and talks she’s likely the Queen of England.”

Their laughter could be heard down the street up to the Bucket of Blood, but fortunately the Queen of England with her long strides had already passed the saloon and was right out of earshot.