This is my story for the CAW7 – Calling All Writers Challenge #7
the challenge was to write a story about.

“Females For Hire”
I chose to go with a western, modeled after the two-reeler that were shown at Saturday Matinees . This is the fist chapter of serial.
Of course with the prerequisite cliffhanger at the end.

Hardwood Saloon

The cattle drive was finally over it had been a month of Sundays since I had been back in DeSoto city, my home Town.
The days were at their shortest and the nights were cold and long but no more sleeping on the ground in a bedroll tonight, oh tonight a bed a real bed indoors out of the cold.

After dropping my horse at the livery.

Plowing thought the dust I crossed the street and headed for the Hardwood Saloon.
Weighed down by my saddlebags, my heavy boots causes the boards on the sidewalk to clatter and bang as I proceeded on my way.
It had been quite a spell since we had any appreciable rain and the boards had all shrunk and become loose.

The town was almost deserted I wondered where was everyone?
Opening the storm door I entered the saloon everything was where it belonged, to the right was the bar, of hand polished mahogany running a good forty foot long with an L at the front end just beyond the bar there was a set of stairs leading up to the second floor and the “guest” rooms.
A mezzanine spanned over the stage at the back of the room.

There were maybe sixteen round tables scattered around the floor each with a half dozen chairs.
The big potbelly stove was warming the place nicely.
The floor was of red oak hence the saloon’s name.

“Well look what the cat dragged in”.
“It’s nice to see you to Aunt Katharine”.
“ Shush your mouth. I’ve told you before not to call me that here, I don’t want the customers to know that”.
Looking around “What there’s only one old man in here and he’s asleep.
“ OH that’s just Bill, you remember him he’s the piano player”.
“Ok, ok Miss Kitty. So where is everyone”?
“You have been out on the trail a long time haven’t you? It’s December 24, Christmas eve most are home with kinfolk”.

Katherine, oh I mean Miss Kitty went over an yelled up the stairs
“Ginny get your ass down here there’s someone here to see you”!
“Tell him to come back on Tuesday I’m on a fucking holiday” she bellowed from her room upstairs.
“No I think you’ll want to see him, better hurry before he gets mad and leaves”.
A long period of silence followed before she finally appeared on the balcony.

EEEEK “Ben your back”!
She bounded down the stairs and nearly bowled me over in one fell swoop;
wrapping her arms around me she gave me a bear hug that almost took my breath away.
Leaning back and gazing up trying to Look me in the eye “you’ve grown” she exclaimed
“No I haven’t I’m still eighteen hands tall”
“NO you big lummox, I can’t get my arms around you like I use to”.
“Well I guess I did put-on a few pounds
just sitting in the saddle for six months can do that don’t you know”
“Be careful or I might say the same thing about you to kid, all you do is……
Miss Kitty leaned over and put a finger to my lips “ Now Ben you know that there are ladies present”.
Ginny was only two years younger than myself and oh how I loved to give her a hard time!
“Come on let’s get you settled in your room out behind the kitchen” Miss Kitty said

Dropping my things in my old room I rejoined them in the kitchen sitting at the table I began telling my tale.

On this drive Cooky brought his wife Bertha
with him. He was a big Swede and his wife was even bigger. They manned one of the largest chuck wagons to sail the prairies. It was built by the smith company.
It had three axles with six wheels and was twenty feet long with a tin roof and a fold out bed. More like a gypsy caravan.

We had only been on the trail for about one week when they got into a squabble.
That evening he got really drunk and started to badmouth her. Finally he offered her to anyone who wanted to have their way with her!
I myself had no interest in her; let’s just say that if she were to wonder into the herd you would have a hard time picking her out. I told the rest of the boys that if they wanted to eat well on the drive they should steer clear of her.
The trail boss Jim Walker had also had a bit too much drink that night, after Cooky passed out he took him up on his offer. In a nearby grove of trees you could hear her squeals of protest for half the night. Quiet like a mouse we snuck up on them and watched the show

That next day Cooky was defiantly in a foul mood and we all kept clear of him lets not you wanted to catch a meat cleaver.

The following morning big Jim didn’t get up for breakfast, one of the boys went to check on him they found him dead. There was no sign of a struggle he just passed on in his sleep. He was in his fifty’s and maybe it was his time. At least he got in one last roll in the hay.
At the next town I sent a telegram to the owners informing them of Jim’s demises and word came back promoting me to trail boss putting a pretty penny in my pocket. Being nearly thirty I was the second oldest and most experienced hand.

Sitting at the table as I told my story I felt something brush past my leg at first I thought that it was just one of the cats that mill around the kitchen but then it started to crawl up my britches.
Just as I was about to jump up and shoot the critter Ginny saw the vexation in my eyes and said “sorry BEN”!
Having been out on the land for so long your first reaction when something crawls on you is to shoot first and ask questions later.

At dinner she started to play footsie again. Now I was more receptive to her advances. She had never done anything playful like that before and it caught my totality off guard.

After dinner we retired upstairs to Ginny’s room. She had the nicest room in the place with two windows; the walls were papered with a large floral print with matching curtains. The ceiling was painted white, a braided rug on the floor and an oversized brass bed.
On the dressers stood two oil lamps of cobalt glass set on either side of the wash basin in front of a large mahogany framed mirror.
That bed looked so inviting it was all poofed up with a dust ruffle and pillow shams.
The lamps cast a warm glow in the room but the saloon itself was growing cool, with no patrons that night the fire in stoves was left to die down.