Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
* Day 21 *

Summary: Music may have charms to soothe the savage breast, but is that still true when Hoss Cartwright is the one singing?
Rating:  G
Words:  1,325

Ring Out, Wild Bells

For the first time in a long while, Adam was almost as eager for a drink at the Silver Dollar as his brothers. The beer itself–or maybe even a drop of something stronger–was an incentive, of course, but nagging curiosity was a stronger one. Rumor had it that Sam, who had a soft spot for Christmas and an even softer one for his precious music box from Geneva (*not* the one in New York, the one in Europe!) had scraped together enough money to send to Switzerland for a new cylinder to put in the device. A cylinder of Christmas carols, Cosmo (Sam’s junior bartender) had hinted.

And indeed, an unfamiliar tune could be heard tinkling away in the saloon. Adam frowned; even at midday the usual crowd of drinkers usually made too much noise for the music box to reach listeners on C Street. There had been plenty of patrons at the other bars they had passed. What could possibly be the matter at the Silver Dollar?

The Cartwright trio had almost reached the fence outside their favorite bar when Cosmo darted out of its swinging doors and latched onto Adam’s leg, almost tugging it from the stirrup. “Thank God you’re here,” he gabbled. “Sam’s really got his hands full in there; you’re just the folks he needs. Please help him….” Then he was scurrying down the street. looking strangely undignified with an old plaid coat put on all anyhow over his formal bartender’s garb.

The music box fell silent; someone’s nickel had run out. Without its high-pitched metallic chiming, Adam could hear a sullen rumble coming from the bar. Not a fight, then, not yet, but if that smothered anger came to burst the results would be far worse than broken chairs and bleeding noses. That was a mob in there, or Adam had never heard one.

As he finished hitching Sport to the railings, a louder voice–still struggling to keep calm–became audible. Sam–well, good. “I don’t know where you think you are, but this ain’t the Sazerac. There’s nothing to interest you here but the drinks. I’m not hiding anyone in the back room.”

That wasn’t true, Adam could tell with his first step past the doors. There wasn’t a bargirl to be seen. Well, they were probably upstairs, not in the back room, but it was another bad sign. Sam looked out for his saloon girls; that was one more thing Adam liked about him.

Miners filled the main room–not the Silver Dollar’s usual patrons, who themselves seemed squeezed into the corners, watching like the audience at a play. Miners fresh off their shifts, to judge by their red-scrubbed hands and the dust in their hair. They milled and stamped and grumbled among themselves, seemingly not really certain why they were here or what they wanted, but obviously hostile. Adam cast his mind back to his most recent visit to the Gould and Curry workings. No, he couldn’t remember anything that might explain this behavior, but it wasn’t hard to think of possibilities. Wages being cut for the winter; workers being laid off; corners being cut to save money but reduce safety. Any one of a number of issues that perennially nourished the feud between rich and poor.

He probably knew at least a few in that restless crowd–with luck a few of the cooler-headed, more reasonable ones. Without hesitation (never betray hesitation to a nervous herd of cattle, or of men!) he strode into the room. The last tidbit of information his scouting senses brought him was that no one followed him in.

“Demanding protection money for the M.P.A.?” he said lightly to the nearest familiar face. “I’m sure you’ll get a fatter contribution if you ask more politely than this, fellows.”

“You know the Miner’s Protection Agency don’t run rackets like that,” the man growled back–but there was a touch of defensiveness in the voice instead of anger–maybe even a touch of embarrassment. “We ain’t even jonesing for a round of beers on the house–not that that miser would offer one.”

Adam managed to keep his lips from pressing themselves tight. Running a bar–running anything with a payroll, and accounts receivable  instead of received, and standing orders that had to be paid on the dot–wasn’t something this hired man knew anything about. How long had it been since Sam had been able to afford something entirely for his own pleasure? Even the new music-box cylinder was, at the heart of it, a business expense, a way to attract a finicky customer on the lookout for something different.

Then again, pinching pennies until they cried for mercy was something every man, and almost every woman, in Virginia City understood. Virginia City and everywhere else in the world, very likely. “So what’s the news from the mines?” Adam asked, throwing a friendly arm around the other man’s shoulders.

“Oh, the usual. Not enough pay, not enough work, and the price of silver’s down again in San Francisco.”

Soft and ugly sounds of agreement came from several places in the crowd. “Boss men don’t listen to us. Boss men never do, unless…” One of the more hot-tempered pit bosses, that one, which didn’t make what he was saying untrue. And heaven help Sam, and the Silver Dollar, and everyone inside it, if he decided to carry on with what that unfinished sentence implied.

At least Joe’s out of this, Adam thought. Sure could use Hoss right now, though. “Silver futures don’t look bad, I hear. And once they get a handle on the drainage problems–”

“Oh, you’re no better than the rest,” the hothead declared comprehensively, and Adam felt everything, even the shoulder underneath his arm, tense up tighter than the words themselves seemed to justify.

Pure reason wasn’t going to help him here.

From the doorway came a welcome note of cheer. “Lookie here, fellows! Sam, get some glasses set up–there’s a special on eggnog at the mercantile and I just couldn’t help myself. This ain’t no time for petty fussing–it’s almost Christmas!” And Hoss, arms taken up with a keg too heavy for most men to even lift, raised his voice in song as he shouldered his way to the counter. “Ring out, wild bells,” he warbled loudly.

Adam wasn’t the only one to wince at the noise. Someone else, in fact, apparently dropped a fresh nickel in the music box, which, while not any louder, was at least more tuneful. There was a brief argument between instrument and singer before Hoss concentrated on getting the eggnog-pouring started.

Free beer on offer hadn’t been likely to solve anything–no doubt why Sam hadn’t tried to offer it–but eggnog was another matter entirely. The miners and the cowboys and the teamsters all pushed up to the bar, but in a friendly way, apologizing when they bumped together, knowing there was no need to push and shove when this much liquid cheer was being dispensed. Joe tottered in, staggering under another keg only slightly smaller than the first, to underscore the sense of holiday plenty. The hothead, clearly accustomed to organizing situations, was passing full glasses back to the people behind him, and pressed one into Adam’s hands with a broad smile. The union representative from the Gould and Curry thumped Adam on the back and reached for a glass himself.

You couldn’t buy peace on earth with a keg or two of eggnog, but you could wash away a surprising amount of ill-will with it, Adam reflected, and drank deeply of the world’s possible salvation.

My prompt: “the feud between rich and poor” from In Memoriam (Ring Out, Wild Bells) by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
My characters: Adam and Sam the barkeeper (and Hoss, who seems to be sneaking into a lot of this year’s Advent stories!)

For more about Adam’s involvement with the M.P.A., see here
For more about the music box at the Silver Dollar, see the Credits commentary here

Link to Bonanza Brand 2023 Advent Calendar – Day 22 – The Shiny Surprise: The Hair-Raising Christmas Prank by ElayneA