Aaron Howard’s Oscar

Oscar rides into town about nine AM. He sits in front of a general store on a bench and listens to men who were not on the train relating the events of the previous evening. He sees Audrey pass under her parasol and says nothing. An old man sits next to him and they talk about plows for three quarters of an hour. Oscar wears something of a disguise and looks like a farmhand.

He goes into the cigar store and buys a bucket of tobacco and a number of French-made rolling papers. He fills the leather pouch he carries in his pocket with tobacco and pulls the string tight.

The bucket he stows in his horse's saddlebag.

The horse's name is Doc. He is a sturdy mount. Doc will take a rider home whether the rider is conscious or not. He has saved Oscar's tail on none too few occasions. Not to mention the lives of several other men in worse shape.

Oscar leaves Doc at the hitching post and saunters down the plank sidewalk, spurs ajangle. He is not visibly packing a pistol. This town is too similar to civilization to abide men with guns walking down the streets in plain daylight. He keeps a knife in his belt and a pistol hidden elsewhere.

Roundabout lunchtime Oscar sees Audrey leaving 'The Kitchen.' He turns to look in a store window a few buildings away. She goes the other direction. Oscar steps into 'The Kitchen.' He knows it is the place in town where the railroaders take their meals. The place is shaken up with the lunchtime rush. Men holler for more of this and that just so long as it's more. A waitress wings hot rolls across the dining room with an oven mitt. The waitress keeps trying to throw more hot buns at Oscar. Oscar sits at the same table by the window Audrey so recently occupied, listens and eats a very large meal. He does not look forward to the days it is Luc's duty to cook at Camp. It can't always be Anna cooking the meals. Oscar usually contrives to be absent on these days.

Time burns. He eats slowly and drinks several cups of coffee. Really he hasn't learned anything new, except that the town is impressed by the robbery. A posse was sent out but no tracks were found after their sudden disappearance into the creek.

The way Oscar sees it, they got the kind of response they wanted. He has not checked the papers to see what the reviewers have to say. In any case, the Baron owns this town's papers.

The time comes for the railroad lunch shift to end. The crowd thins. Oscar asks the waiter to heat his apple pie and find some ice cream.

Having finished, Oscar pays, not with money stolen the night before but with other hard fought money. He says thanks and see ya again and walks out.

Next stop, the saloon, for more hearsay.

He walks into the dusty saloon, allows for his eyes to adjust. Esa, that exuberant Finn, sits at the far end of the bar gifting his gab on unexpecting patrons. Oscar does not acknowledge the Finn past his scan of the room. The piano plays itself.

Oscar: Whisky.

The bartender plunks a shot glass on the bar, reaches behind him for a bottle, pulls the cork, pours the glass full and leaves the bottle in front of Oscar. He puts a coin on the bar.

Esa purports that he would have single-handedly vanquished the villains had he not been passed out drunk between cars on the train.

Esa: I was out getting some fresh air y'know. A man needs fresh air. Else he end up a scholar or a mortician. Neither one an honorable field. In my country there is saying…

>From a dark corner of the saloon a man grumbles loudly.

Man: It's more healthy not to talk so much. Lest you risk fresh air in your belly.

The bartender throws a glass that shatters on the wall above the shadowy character.

Bartender: Quiet you! I won't have you harassing the customers all the livelong day.
Esa: In my country men drink in happiness. Where there is anger or sadness we drink… and we are happy.

The conversation drifts back toward the train robbery and the barkeep mentions the Baron came in last night and talked business with the Valkyr boys. One old barfly whistles through his teeth.

Barfly: I got pity for anybody gets in their way. Though I sure wish someone would put six feet of hard packed dirt in their way. Then maybe a body could drink in peace at his wat'rin hole of choice.
Esa: Who are these Valkyr boys?
Barfly: Where you been? Back in your country? They're only the two meanest sons of bitches ever walked on two legs, draggin their knuckles.
Esa: Sounds dangerous.
Bartender: They left here about dawn out to the Baron's spread. With them on the job we'll get those infernal bandits.
Barfly: And more and more innocent people'll get hurt the longer it takes. You might even think them boys LIKE hurtin folk.
Esa: These are lawmen?
Barfly: Hardly. No, mercenaries. Like Prussians. You know who they are.
Esa: Yes. This is not a favourable comparison.

Seeing Esa has this place covered with his joviality Oscar elects to leave. He has a couple more shots. He does not wait for the change of his dollar. His departure brings up the inevitable question of 'who was that quiet stranger?' from the Barfly.

Esa: I see him on train last night, afraid to come out of Pullman car after this big robbery.
Barfly: He dint look like such a skeerdy cat as that. I don't know as I believe everthin you say. Yer just plum windy boy. But you gotta good head on them broad furriner shoulders of yourn. I reckon yer a good man to elbow up the bar next to. And you keep most everbody in stitches laughin alla time.
Esa: Thanks old man. You too are okay for grimy old drunk who never said anything that was not lie. In my country you would be mayor or sheriff maybe. Here you sit next to me on the bar and we drink til there is no more left to drink.
Bartender: So you decided to fall in love and get married to the bottle. Who's paying for this one is all I wanna know?
Esa: I gladly pay. Is gold good enough or do you also require passport and firstborn child to buy drink?
Bartender: Gold will do nicely.
Esa: I am most glad I do not leave my things in train safe. The careful hands of bandits will not fondle my purse.
Barfly: Much obliged youngster.
Esa: Let us drink!
Barfly: Now yer talkin my talk.

They clink glasses.