Chapter 8

Civilization

Denver, Colorado Territory, September 1862

Denver had grown even more in the last year, they found. There were banks now, and hotels, and fine eateries. Even Jim, with his past life as an officer and gentleman, was impressed.

The ride from Tarryall, with Kennedy and Tennison had been smooth. Tennison had left his trade shop with his partner, to accompany them to Denver, and he led them to the Miners' Bank first. This was where he did most of his business, and here, Jim and Ned dropped fifty pounds of nuggets and gold dust on the counter, creating a mild sensation.

On the ride over from Tarryall, they had agreed on the principles of their partnership. Kennedy would run the mining operation, that was a given. Ned was to stay in Tarryall to oversee the operation and to hire workers. He would also make sure his and Jim's interests were observed. Tennison would organize the transports of gold and goods to and from Denver.

The partners agreed that Jim should remain in Denver, as their representative. After all, he was a learned man, an officer and gentleman, and he knew how to behave in a salon. He was to be their ears and eyes in the capital of the territory, ready to represent their interest with the appointed governor. He was also to keep close ties with the Mining Bank, essential for their operations.

The others would join them in Denver during the winter months, when the mining operation would be dormant. Ned and Jim had also decided to postpone their dream of a ranch. Oregon was out of the question now if they were running a gold mine. Instead, they had decided to look for houses in Denver. Jim would also look into opportunities to invest their gains.

However, this part of the plan had to wait. After receiving their receipts of deposit at the Miners' Bank, they all took rooms in the Palace Hotel. Neither Jim nor Ned possessed a city suit, let alone a presentable one. Mandy and Rose had their buckskins, plus a few dresses that had seen better days, and Sam had even less.

Therefore, after a referral by the bank clerk, a tailor was contracted to fit them with appropriate clothing. He came to their hotel rooms with two assistants, to take their measurements, and he promised them the first products of his efforts, used suits and dresses made to fit, for the next day.

Thus it came that they all sat to dinner in the fancy hall of the hotel wearing their buckskins. It helped that Jim and Ned had been at the receiving end of a barber's efforts. Their hair and beards were well groomed now, but the fact remained that their clothing left much to be desired.

And then, there was Raven Feather. She was undeniably Red Indian, and the six of them received many dirty looks from other patrons. Raven was ready to bolt, but Jim would not have it. They sat at their table, but no waiter came near. It was as if they were ignored on purpose. Jim and Ned waited for a quarter hour, but when they were still studiously ignored, Ned rose from the table.

"Reckon, I'll have to go into that kitchen an' rustle up something myself," he said loudly, heading for the kitchen entrance.

The waiter who tried to head him off nearly fell over his own feet in his rush.

"Please, Sir, guests are not allowed in the kitchen area!" he panted.

"Well, my friend, either send somebody over to our table, or get out of my way. I'm plenty hungry, and I don't take kindly to being starved."

"I'll see to your needs right away, Sir."

Hesitantly, Ned returned to the table. Presently, the head waiter appeared at their table, his nose in the air.

"Gentlemen, much as I regret this, we cannot serve you. Your clothing is absolutely inappropriate, even if you did not tag along that squaw."

He sniffed indignantly.

Jim looked up at the man and grinned.

"Well, the sooner we get something to eat, the sooner you'll be shot of us. We are paying guests of this hotel, and we shall eat. Have someone wait on us, and we'll be gone in three shakes flat."

"Gentlemen, I absolutely refuse..." the head waiter began, but he stopped short.

The Navy Colt that poked into his belly was cocked.

"I insist," Jim said gently. "And mark you, one more insulting remark, and we shall have to settle this outside."

Perspiration appeared on the man's forehead. Licking his lips nervously, he clapped his hands. A lesser waiter appeared.

"Take these gentlemen's orders!" he snapped.

It was a good thing that Jim and Amanda had taken the others to task over proper table manners over the past year. Rose knew some proper eating anyway, as did Samantha, but even Ned and Raven mastered the silverware and the glasses without mishaps. Suddenly, though, a voice broke their peace.

"I'll be damned if this isn't a lousy squaw here, pretending to be human," a man exclaimed, nearing their table.

Jim was up already, his hand on the butt of the Colt. The smooth, catlike movement, and the tall sinewy figure did not fail to make an impression.

"You were saying?" Jim inquired calmly.

The loud mouth was not very tall, and not muscled at all. He looked like an accountant with his pale skin and his badly fitting suit. Quite obviously, he was also unaccustomed to being faced down by frontiersmen wearing buckskins and packing Colts. He hemmed and hawed a bit, and then, he beat a hasty retreat.

Jim sat down again.

"I'm sorry, Raven. Some people have no manners at all."

"And no ballocks either!" Ned added with a chuckle and to indignant stares from around.

That caused Raven to grin, in spite of herself. She shook her head.

"With my people, that man would have to work with the women all his life."

She had spoken in a normal tone of voice, and a number of people at the other tables heard her. A bald man of undetermined age, stocky and wearing thick glasses, stood and approached them.

"Good evening, ladies and gents. My name is Abraham Linkletter. I am a reporter with the Rocky Mountain News. I would like to apologize for the uncouth reception you had to suffer here. May I ask your purpose in Denver?"

"We came here on business, to form a mining company with our partners," Ned answered. "There's no lawyer in Tarryall, and we want to do this all proper."

"I also plan to settle in Denver with my wife and our friends," Jim added. "I am James Tremayne, my wife Rose, our adopted daughter Samantha, and our companion, Raven Feather, of the Oglala tribe."

"I'm Ned Gourd, and this is my wife, Amanda," Ned added.

"I sure am pleased to meet you!" Linkletter answered nicely. "The reason of my intrusion on you ... are you sure that I am not bothering you?"

"Not at all," Jim answered automatically, inwardly amused at his still ingrained response to a polite address.

"Well, as I said, I have a reason to intrude on you. I am somewhat of an anthropologist and naturalist, and I devote my spare time to the study of the Red Indian tribes. I have had the opportunity to meet several members of the Ute people, and I try to learn about their life, their language and their beliefs."

"You want to learn about my people and my tribe?" Raven asked.

The passable English that she had learned from her late man had improved considerably under Mandy's tutorship, who was a well-groomed young lady. Linkletter looked at her with appreciation.

"I would consider it a great favor to have a few hours of your time, Miss err ... Raven Feather?"

Raven nodded.

"Yes, as I said, a few hours, in which you could answer my questions. I never had a chance yet to interview a squ ... a young lady of the Lakota. Your perspective, as a ... female would greatly enhance my understanding."

Linkletter was really making an effort to be courteous, studiously avoiding the dirty word "squaw", and Raven Feather had a friendly smile on her face.

"Yes, I think I can do that," she said.

Linkletter positively beamed.

"Thank you, thank you, Miss! I shall now leave you to your supper. Please, here is my card. Feel free to call upon me at my office once you have settled in."

He bowed to the rest of the group and returned to his own table.

"Linkletter is an apt name for a man who writes for a newspaper. He should be a typesetter, though," Jim said under his breath, and Rose and Amanda started to chuckle.

Raven's and Ned's mouths worked on the name a few times, before they, too, started to smile. Samantha visibly formed the word in her mouth a few time, then she giggled.

"Do you mind if I visit this man?" Raven asked, looking at both men.

"No, not at all," Jim answered for them. "I may come along to pick his mind, too. He must know all about Denver, seeing that he is a reporter here."

Finally, they were finished with their supper. Jim paid their tab using paper money from the small stack he had agreed to take in lieu of gold eagles. To his relief, the money was accepted without problem. They could probably conduct their purchases in Denver with the paper money, instead of heavy gold coins. However, it was also possible that the head waiter was afraid of arguing with a customer who had shown himself ready to press his viewpoints with a six-shooter.

Sleeping in a stuffy hotel room, with shuttered windows, proved to be difficult. However, the balcony running along the second floor guest rooms was an altogether too easy access for potential thieves, and thus, the windows had to remain shut.

Jim and Ned were none too well-tempered, therefore, when they walked down for breakfast. It was unfortunate that the hotel manager, Mr. Maurie, choose this moment to intercede them.

"Gentlemen," he began, his bushy mustache quivering with indignation, "I was informed of your threatening behavior towards my restaurant staff. You will have to leave this house immediately!"

"Our rooms are paid until noon," Jim replied, still composed. "That's how long we'll stay."

"No, I said immediately!" Maurie postured.

Jim did not even bother to answer the man. He just strode past him and to the breakfast room. Ned, however, stuck his enormous nose into Maurie's face.

"Listen, and listen well: don't you mess with my partner before he's had his first coffee. You keep pestering him, and he's liable to plug you."

"Then he'll hang!" Maurie answered triumphantly. "We have the law in this town."

Jim turned around at the entrance of the breakfast room.

"I have paid for my room until noon. Right now, my wife is up there. Maybe, she is just dressing. If you try to barge into that room, I'll have to assume that you plan to molest her. I'd like to see the jury that will convict me for shooting you."

Jim and Ned were still sitting at their breakfast table when a tall and broad shouldered man entered. Jim saw a smile flitter over the man's face when he took in their sight.

"Good morning, gents! I'm Police Marshal Snyder, and I uphold the law in Denver."

Jim stood and held out his hand.

"Captain James Weston Tremayne, Marshal."

Jim used his full name and military title on purpose. After all, he and Ned were rich men and future mine owners, and he had little desire to be subservient to anybody. It worked, and Snyder took the proffered hand while Ned rose as well.

"Good morning to you, Marshal. I'm Ned Trushbottom, but I rather go by my nickname, Ned Gourd."

Snyder grinned.

"Can't say as I blame you, Mr. Gourd. May I sit?"

Ned grinned.

"We may have to force those lazy rascals at gunpoint to get you some coffee, but I can try. Hey, monkey suit! A cup o' coffee for the Marshal!"

"I take it, you are diggers?"

"Yes, we did a little prospecting around Tarryall, and we struck a lode. We're in town with two partners to form a mining company," Jim volunteered.