Page 102 of Native Hawk
Chapter 30
Sheriff Jasper Brown was feeling lucky as he rode into the town of Paradise near sunset. He knew he was close to his quarry, and he could almost taste the acrid fire of revenge.
Then again, that might just be the charred ruin of the barn he smelled as he and his sons rode toward Paradise. A large wooden sign over the entrance proclaimed the place THE PARKER RANCH.
Another few miles, and they hit the center of town. It appeared the evening was just getting started for the drinking men.
Paradise was off the beaten track as far as towns went. But it was a decent place with plenty of orchards and shops, churches and hotels. Best of all, by the tinny music and chatter he could hear coming out the doors, it had several saloons.
He reined up at the first establishment he saw, The Red Dog Saloon, and tied the horses to the hitching post. With his boys flanking him, he went through the open door, bellied up to the bar, and ordered three sarsaparillas.
“Aww, Pa,” Harvey complained.
“Make mine with a shot o’ whiskey,” Jim told the bartender.
Jasper grabbed the bartender’s arm before he could comply and shook his head. “We’re gonna keep our wits about us, boys.”
He had a feeling tonight was going to be the showdown. This was the end of his journey. If he didn’t find his man here, he’d never find him. But he sure didn’t need his boys half-drunk when it came time to settle the score.
While he waited for the sarsaparillas, he scoured the room. A piano player made a racket in the corner while a skinny kid scratched on a violin, making a noise that sounded like a cat in heat. There were only two card games going—both games of faro. He studied the faces of the players. None of them were the half-breed.
Once he got his drink, he told the boys to circulate while he had a little chat with the bartender. They immediately started cozying up to the saloon girls.
“I’m lookin’ for a good game o’ five-card draw,” he said, carefully concealing his star. For this bit of ugly business, he’d just as soon not be known as a lawman. Unless his credentials came in handy, he planned to slip in and out of town with no fuss. “You get that in here?”
The bartender popped the cork back into a bottle of whiskey. “Faro’s the favorite here. You might try down the street at the Pair-o-Dice.”
Jasper nodded and took a sip. For an instant, he forgot it was sarsaparilla and flinched at the syrupy sweet taste.
The bartender continued pouring drinks while Jasper perused the saloon. The men were mostly white, but since the area had been settled during the Gold Rush, a lot of immigrants had infested the town.
Jasper took another slug of sarsaparilla. “You got any half-breeds come through?”
“Half-breeds?” the bartender said, wiping a spill off the bar. “Sure.”
“Got any here now?” Every town had a couple drifters.
The bartender, misunderstanding him, took a gander around the room and gestured to a man playing faro. “Joe there is half-Mexican.” He smirked, nodding to an exotic-looking lady beside the piano. “And the lady grabbin’ your son’s crotch is half-Chinese.”
Jasper narrowed his eyes to slits. He’d talk to Jim about his taste in women later. “Any half-Injuns?”
The bartender shrugged. “Robert might be a quarter-Injun, not sure about that. He’s the one on the fiddle.”
Jasper decided he was getting nowhere at The Red Dog. So he drained his glass and rounded up his sons.
The Pair-o-Dice was a few doors down. This saloon had a lady barkeep and four games going. There was a woman warbling “Silver Threads Among the Gold” into the room, but only one of the dance hall girls had a partner, a grizzled old gent. As Jasper’s gaze roved over the room, it landed on a player with a silver star on his vest. It appeared the town sheriff was sitting at one of the tables, playing five-card draw.
Jasper scratched at his cheek. Maybe he’d try a different strategy since the local lawman was a gambler.
He told his boys to buy themselves a couple of dances. Then he watched the poker game till it was over. When the players slid their chairs back, he approached the sheriff with his friendliest smile.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” he said, flashing his own badge. “Good to see one o’ my fellow lawmen havin’ a little fun at the card table. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Can’t say no to that,” the sheriff replied. “I’m drinkin’ bourbon.”
“Bourbon it is.” He waved to the barkeep. Then he extended his hand and said, “I’m Sheriff Jasper Brown o’ Shasta.”
“Pleased to meet you.” The sheriff shook his hand. “You’re a long way from home.”
