Have Gun Will Travel - Ozarks and Arkies

[jemmus]

The bartender seems satisfied with the visitor to his saloon’s explanation. He draws Paladin a good-sized beer, and when Paladin puts his nickel down, he takes it and puts down a penny for change.

The big, hirsute, and shirtless man calls from his table, Ya wanna arm wrassle, mister? If ya can beat me, ah’ll buy ya a beer. No, two beers. Er a shot a whiskey.

The mousy-haired woman in a plain dress comes over. She has a kind of astounded look on her face. She’s kind of pretty, in a no-makeup and cut-your-own hair way. She says, You’re comin all the way from Dallas and goin all the way ta Little Rock? Like the bartender, she’s missing a few teeth. I haven’t been ta Little Rock since ah was a little girl. Mama and Daddy used to take us there to visit kin. But they’s all dead now. One drownded, one got kicked in the head by a horse, one had a huntin accident, and the others just died a old age. I can go with ya if ya want. She looks up at Paladin with a hopeful smile.

[Grognardsw]

Paladin didn’t expect to win against the big man, but was up for a friendly bout anyway. Maybe technique and reaction time could make up for the difference in strength.

Responding to the mousy-haired woman, Paladin said: “Mighty sorry, Miss, ya see my schedule don’t allow me to roam 'round with company. Why you want to leave? I’m sure a purty girl like you got the boys these parts courtin’ you six ways to Sunday.”

Paladin took a seat in front of the big man, rolled up his sleave, ready to arm wrestle.

[jemmus]

The young-ish woman looks disappointed, but says, It's jist that ah'd like ta take a trip, mister, and see somethin. My sister Ellie would take care a kids fer me. If ya pass back through ah can go with ya back ta Dallas, if ya want. She smiles a friendly smile. It's like to her the stranger is already one of her lifelong friends.

When Paladin accepts the arm wrestling challenge and takes a seat across from the big man, the whole room lights up with smiles. The guitar and fiddle player strike up "Camptown Races." All of the cards players lay their hands down on the table and gather around the table. Paladin, with his habit of observing everything, sees one of the two kids (the younger one, the boy) filch a penny off a table.
Now we're talkin!
He got gumption, ah'll say that!
Go easy on the stranger, Artie Lee! He don't weigh more'n 160, 170 pounds!
Arkie, bring over a bottle a whiskey! Got ta limber up these boys' shoulders and elbows! Put it on my credit....
Ya know ya already owe 85 cents, Clem. And a bottle is a dollar and eighty cents....
Don't you worry about Arkie. I'm about to sell a litter a fine sucklin pigs. They'll be off the tit in a week.
Alright then. Ah'll remind ya next week. You stop by-- whether er not Edna has barred ya from comin ta the saloon next week.

The bartender brings over a bottle, a dozen shot glasses, and a pan of water. Not even glasses ta go around fer everbody. Dip your glass in the water before ya pass it ta yer neighbor. There a few glances over at fellow with a scraggly gray beard who looks like he hasn't laundered his clothing, dusted off his hat, or down much else in the personal hygiene department for some time. Except fer you, Ben. You can have yer own glass. You bein tha eldest of us and all.

Shots are courteously poured for the arm wrestlers first. Artie Lee tosses back one and puts the glass down for another. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. The pourer offers to fill another, but he waves his hand. The pourer then offers Paladin another, and another, and another, et cetera. Four of Artie Lee's fingers backed with black hair are the width of a thumb, and the thumb itself is the width of a big big toe. He plants his elbow on the table, leans forward, and looks Paladin in the eye. Then leans back and says, Sorry, mister, ah about fergot my manners. Arthur Lee Horne. People call me Artie Lee. Raised up right here in Texarkana. Born on the Texas side, but spent most a mah life on the Arkansas side. Pleased ta meet ya. He touches his hat brim and offers his big meaty hand for a handshake.

The rules will be like the pool rules, except rolling on Strength instead of Coordination. Best of three rolls, if a tie, the winner of the last of the three rolls wins.

How many drinks does Paladin take?
Rulesbook, p. 89.
Alcoholic beverages affect people in various
ways. For every three average- sized
drinks a character takes, reduce all of his
skill scores plus Coordination and
Observation by one. For every six average
drinks consumed, add one point to his
Strength score.

[Grognardsw]

“Mighty nice to meet you Artie. Paladin’s ma name.” He regarded the big Texarkanan and shook his offered hand. “They grow ‘em big round here! Don’t rip ma arm off please, I need it.”

Wanting to keep his wits about him, and awareness of juvenile thieves, Paladin only drank two beers. He gave the glass as thorough a water cleaning as he could, which wasn’t much.

Sitting across from Artie, Paladin supposed his own 6’2” 200 pound frame seemed slight to the big man. Paladin’s hand gripped Artie’s…

Arm wraslin [1d20]=14
Arm wraslin [1d20]=1
Arm wraslin [1d20]=15

Paladin’s goal of defusing tension and gaining trust was achieved, even if it meant losing an arm wrestle.

[jemmus]

Clem says, Paladin? Is that a Mexican name? A man replies, Nah, that ain't Mexican. If it was Mexican, it would be "Paladino" er "Paladinez."

Paladin and Artie grip hands. In addition to his bigger size, Artie's forearm is longer, which gives him greater leverage. Paladin gives it a hard and solid try and holds his own to give his opponent a challenge, but it's just a matter of time. His wrist is an inch from the table top and quivering, and with a quick surge of power Artie presses it to the tabletop. It's over before the fiddle and git fiddle men have finished "Camptown Races."

The members of the little crowd call out, Whoo!, Yassiree!, He give it a kick, but nobody ever beat Artie! There are some hard slaps on Paladin's back. Artie says, I could've bent yer wrist back in the beginnin and it woulda all been over quick. But that wouldn't a been sportin. Ah'll still buy ya a beer. Clem says, What do y'all say we take up a collection ta buy Mr. Paladin's supper? I'd buy it myself, but my credit with Arkie and Tex is already stretched a little thin. There are murmurs of Shore, ah'll pitch in and the like, and pennies and nickels are flipped onto the table, Soon enough Arkie brings over a plate, long, sharp kitchen knife, a fork, and a jug of molasses. Supper is two big, thick pork chops, collard greens cooked with fried bacon, yellow squash coated with flour and cornmeal and fried, and a stack of what look like cornbread pancakes. Somebody says, Yer gonna like them corn dodgers, Mr. Paladin. Leora makes the best ones in the county. But it's the disks of fried squash that impress Paladin. Crispy on the outside, moist and tender in the middle. Savory with salt and the flavor of fried flour and cornbread, with the unique flavor of Indian yellow, and a sugary sweetness at the end. He guesses that a table of genteel folk in San Francisco or Boston would find the humble country fare irresistible.

The men, the woman and the two kids watch Paladin eat, waiting for any comments on the cuisine. When he's done, the kids come over and the girl, comes over, face bright red with embarrassment and bashfully mumbles something. The room gets quiet. Clem tsks and quietly says, Don't make Wes's kids ask fer table scraps, y'all. Let's take up another collection. But Arkie says, Y'all don't have to do that, we got enough to share with them children. Why don't y'all wake Les up and give him a shot? It might git his legs under him enough to git up and git home. The men do that, after the children have had their supper, and it works. They return to their cards games and their passing around the bottle and dipping the too-few shot glasses in the pan of water before filling them. Ya wanna try yer hand at some cards, Mr. Paladin? The music men play, and before long the bottle of whiskey has done its work. The room starts singing to the songs (while still betting and calling), and when "Gary Owen" plays, Clem gets up and dances a jig this Wednesday night.

[1d20]=6[1d20]=6[1d20]=9 Artie has Strength 17, with +1 for intoxication.

[Grognardsw]

"Ah shucks y'all don't need to buy ma dinner, I reckon I can rub two coins 'getha," Paladin replied to Clem. Perhaps he was laying on the local vernacular a bit much.

“I tell you what - dem is good corn dodgers!” Paladin chomped away. “How does Leora get the squash all crispy on the outside, and tender inside?” Paladin guffawed. “Ha - that sounds like some women I know!”

When the little girl came up to his table, Paladin winked and slid her a bite of cornbread.

Paladin, not having anything to do that night besides reading Around the World in 80 Days (he got up to page 121 on the train), settled in for a night at Tex & Arkie’s Saloon.

The gun fighter took his turn at the bottle, burped, and said: “Deal them cards!”

T&A card game [1d20]=6

After their hospitality, it was probably best if Paladin didn’t take these peoples money. So he played poorly, not minding the loss.

[jemmus]

The saloon customer grin, snort and laugh at Paladin's joke. I know somebody who knows somebody just like that gal. He elbows his neighbor on the left and gives him a wink and a big grin. The other patrons grin and surreptitiously look over to see the fellow's reaction. The man doesn't seem much amused.

Paladin sits down to cards with Clem, big Artie Lee, and smallish bearded fellow they call by his full baptized name of Artimus. Maybe to avoid the confusion of having two Arties in town, or to avoid the possible peril of calling Artie Lee "Arthur." Artimus chew tobacco with vigor, and it seems as a died in the wool happen wipes his lips on his sleeve after he spits in the spittoon between his feet. The right sleeve of his gray shirt is dyed a tobacco brown that no amount of washing could ever make gray again.

Artie Lee seems less confident at cards than he is with arm wrestling. As the betting goes around the table, beads of sweat gather on his brown in the hot June Texarkana night. And a sheen of sweat covers his hairy chest and equally hairy below. It not infrequently will form into a drop that takes off and turns into a rivulet that rapidly descends chest or armpit across the great belly and drops onto the card table or floor. Clem calls to the bartender, Arkie, ya got a fresh dry box a cards? These cards are gittin wet and marked with, uh... somebody's sweat. Arkie replies, Ah do, but ya cain't have em jist yet. Cain't have the last pack all sweaty and marked up this early in the evenin. Besides, Clem, ya got money fer playin cards, but no money fer payin fer yer whiskey. Er last week's beer.

After a full three rounds of calling and raising, Artie Lee flips in three cents and says, Call. Let's see yer hands. Ah got a king high. Artimus shows his. Pair a nines. Clem shows his. Jack high. Paladin had a pair of sevens and the makings of a flush, but chose to play to not win much, but show his good faith and stay in the game. Artimus says, Clem, ah knowed ya was didn't have no hand. Ah can spot when yer bluffin. He drags in his winnings for the hand-- 42 cents. Clem replies, Artimus, you don't know when ah'm showin ya ah'm bluffin and settin ya up fer when ya won't know that ah'm bluffin, er hold a handful a really good cards. Think a little on that. He leans back in his chair, smiling.

Somebody buys another bottle of whiskey, and before long that one and the first one have done their job. The voices in the saloon get louder and more boisterous, the hands of cards get more disjointed and sloppier, and the hands of cards get more disjointed and sloppier. Artimus says, Clem, ya got that bluffin look on yer face again. Same one ya git when yer tryin ta sell an ole sow fer a breeder er a ole boar who's shootin blanks. Clem gets a black look in his eye stands bolt upright, after taking a little while to get his chair scooted back after a leg catches in a crack between the boards of the floor. You take that back, Artemis, he hisses. Er ah'll cut ya like a watermelon. He glances at the very large dagger-slasher-axe Arkansas Toothpick knife at his waist.

Artie Lee, who'd been kind of nodding off, stands up, falls backward on his chair stands up, and hollers, Clem, you rascal! You been studying the back a mah cards! Instead a studyin yer own hand. Ya marked, didn't ya, ya crook!

The fellow that Clem nudged after Paladin's crispy on the outside, etc. joke weaves his way over to Paladin with a mean look in his eye. What did you mean by that, fella?You jokin about the gals a Texarkana? He looks ready to draw from a boot.

Artimus gets his chair turned sideways enough to stand. He slides a big shiny pig sticker from his waist and crouches. A few of the little crowd gasp, a couple yell Yeehaw! All stumble and draw forward around the knife fighters. Clem, Artie Lee, Artimus, and the elbowed fellow all draw horribly efficient long, wide and heavy, viciously pointed knives. Blades honed to a razor edge on Arkansas foot pedal-driven grindstones. They eye each other warily, looking left to right, and back to left again. They shake their heads and try to sort out who's got what against who. Paladin knows that Machiavelli himself probably sort out the politics and diplomacy in time. The fiddle sawer and rhythm guitar strummer stop the peaceful "Swanee River" midstream and switch back to the lively "Camptown Races." Yeehaw!

The bartender looks on with some concern. He glances to Paladin, maybe to see if he might be a sober and rational man, if only for a moment, and if only for a moment of moral support.

[Grognardsw]

To the other saloon customer, Paladin raised his beer in toast: “To women of all kind!”

During the card game, Paladin watched the other players and saloon customers. Just in case Observation (13) for cheating [1d20]=12

“Well there you go Artimus,” commented Paladin after the short man’s win. “That’ll buy you a wadful of tobaccy.”

As Clem got his ante up, Paladin stepped back and said: “Okay boys, we don’t need no doc here fixin up stabbins! Pocket them pokers! I ain’t seen no cheatin!”

Paladin weighed the chances of a fight and the folks involved. Tactics 13 [1d20]=11

When the offended fella - who took umbrage at some guy’s comment about Paladin’s joke - came up to the gun slinger, Paladin replied: “You askin the wrong man - I didn’t say nothin bout youh gal.” He looked over at the bar to the man who did make the comment. “Ask him.”

“Texarkana women got the the best of both states in ‘em,” he added. “You just gots to get in ‘em to know!” Paladin forced a laugh, not needing to have another potential brawl break out.

[jemmus]

From the bar, there's the loud blast of a bugle. All heads turn to look. Arkie is standing behind the holding a dented, tarnished military bugle to mouth with one hand and a shotgun in the other. He lets out another blast, then begins "Taps" but stops, maybe just to show he can. Saloon's closed. Y'all done gone crazy. Ah knew I shouldn't have sold y'all that second bottle a whiskey. Now y'all go home and sleep it off, after ya take yer scoldins from yer wives and mas. There's some mumbling and grumbling, but everybody puts away their knives. They collect their coins from the tables, make sure to toss back any liquor left standing in glasses and all, including the mousey-haired woman in the plain dress, shuffle out the door.

Arkie says, Well, that Tex & Artie's Saloon fer ya, Mr. Paladin. And all a Texarkana in general. Usually ain't nothin happenin. But when it does, all git-out busts loose. But them fellers wouldn't a really gone after each other with them knives. Everbody in the place was related to at least one other person here, either by blood er by marriage. If ya need a place ta stay the night, ah recommend the Ozark Diamond Hotel. There's a roomin house in town, but tha owners the Barton sisters don't take in new roomers after dark.

[Grognardsw]

Paladin was relieved Arkie took control of the situation, even if it meant the saloon was closed down.

“I reckon there was a fight about to break out,” said Paladin to Arkie. “I’m glad folks thunk again, whatever the reason.”

“It was nice meetin ya Clem, you have a good night now.”

Paladin walked over to the Ozark Diamond Hotel to get a room. On the way he kept his eyes open.

[jemmus]

Clem replies, ... It takes him a little to rise to his full height. Then he says, Good night, Mr. Paladin! You be careful on that train ta Little Rock! The Ozark Mountains is beauty like ya never seen bafore! And diamonds and big quartz crystals in the mountains, and hot sprangs fit fer a queen in between! But a lot a tall pine trees fall down and snap wires and lie across tracks. See ya again whin yer back in Texarkana. Arkie, ah ain't fergit that ah owe ya. No sir.

Arkie busses the tables and puts the remaining whiskey shot glasses into the pot of water. He says to Paladin, If ah was you, ah wouldn't worry much about Clem gittin home tanight. He know where his bread is buttered. Dorcas will take him, and send him back out to work in the mornin, same as always. Nobody knows why she does it. He used ta jimmy crack corn with a gun and knife... but fightin don't put food on tha table fer hungry wives and kids, does it?

Paladin left Tex & Arkie's and checked his pocket watch. 9:55 PM. He found Texarkana's Main Street deserted, with only the quarter Moon and the stars overhead to light his way. Crickets in the trees or weeds between the buildings merrily sang their little cricket hearts out in a peaceful and harmonic rhythmic drone. He followed the saloon's raised wooden slats porch to its end, stepped down to the dry dirt street, crossed in front of Squatly's stable and corral (where Copper will spend the night) and steps up onto the Ozark Diamond Hotel's plank porch-sidewalk. Beyond it is the sidewalk and the standing and hanging signs of the First State Bank. And beyond, a hanging sign that "General Store" below and some smaller lettering above.

Paladin entered the Ozark Diamond Hotel. It wasn't the Bradford Mews of Dallas. The floor was of hardwood planks and the walls were covered by wallpaper that has absorbed the scent of the carpet, the trees and weeds, the Red River, and its guests along the way. But it seems like a surprisingly comfortable place to sleep. The man behind the desk (who seems to be the owner or manager) says, 50 cents per night, sir. Breakfast is 20 cents. All ya can eat.

Paladin, ever observant, finds his room, turn the door's key, and finds its bed. Crickets outside sing-song all night long among the weeds, leaves and trees. The gunfighter sleeps like a baby.

...

The Sun breaks and light shows through the Ozark Diamond Hotel room's open window. The train for Little Rock, connecting after an overnight stay for the one to St. Louis will be boarding soon.

[Grognardsw]

“Thanks Clem, it was a fun evening,” replied Paladin. “I’ll make sure to take in the beauty of the Ozarks out my train window. Bye Arkie!”

The owner Mr. Polly does a little horse tradin. He'll be by in the mornin to pick up any money that came in in the evenin. I'll tell him ya might be interested in buyin or sellin.

The next morning Paladin stopped by the stable to see how much Mr. Polly the owner might offer for Copper.

Afterwards, the gunslinger went to the general store or post office to wire the Carlton to see if the Abilene sheriff had responded to his wire about Terence Walker.

Before departing the train from Dallas, Paladin wired the Abilene marshal to inquire about the status of Terrence Walker: “Walker wounded and in custody three months ago. Saw him in Dallas last night, free and uninjured. Is Walker suppose to be in prison? If not, why? Does he have a twin brother? Wire Paladin, The Carlton, San Francisco.”

Paladin then boarded the train for Little Rock. There he would deliver Constance’s letter to her friend Ruby and see if she was in any trouble.

[jemmus]

The stable owner Mr. Polly looked at Paladin, not rudely, just with curiosity. He shook Paladin's hand with a tight grip. Jeff Polly. I hear ya might want to sell that chestnut gelding there? Ah can offer $50. Ah can't go any higher than that. People around Texarkana aren't rich. Thangs don't sell fer very high.

The postman in the post office says, Morning, Mr. Paladin. Ah have your telegram right here. It came in not more than a quarter of an hour ago. It reads: WALKER DEAD HAD TWIN THEODORE TED W. $100 REWARD INFORM DALLAS -ABILENE *CARLTON

[Grognardsw]

“$50 it is then,” Paladin replied to Mr. Polly for the horse. He resisted the urge to throw in a cracker.

At the post office… ‘Hmm, a twin brother then… Too bad I’m not able to turn around and try to claim that award,’ thought the gunfighter.

Paladin decided to do the next best thing. “Postman, I’d like to send a telegram to the Dallas marshal.” He wrote out a note and handed it to the postman: ‘Wanted criminal Theodore Walker sighted two nights ago exiting the Texas Fairgrounds Theater at 7:50 pm. Did not know him at the time. I caught his twin brother Terence in Abilene two months ago. - Paladin, c/o The Carlton, San Francisco.’

Hoping his tip may lead to the arrest of Theodore, Paladin went over to the train station for his trip to Little Rock.

[jemmus]

Delay at Dry Gulch. GM post coming up tomorrow!

[jemmus]

Polly says, I guess ya won't be needin that saddle, bridle and blanket. Ah'll give ya $20 fer em.

The postman says, That telegram would cost ya more than $5. Let me whittle down it some for ya. He strikes out letters with a pencil and counts the ones that remain. That'll be $2.40, sir.


Paladin takes his usual precautions before boarding the train. It departs five minutes late, but otherwise the trip northward is uneventful, except for the scenery. This part of the State of Arkansas is flat, green, well-watered, and beautiful.


The train passes streams, little waterfalls, lakes, and still snakey-looking lakes surrounded by willows. Turtles plop into them or sun on floating logs, stack on each other. Birds fly from trees, deer observe the passing steam train or bound away, flocks of wild turkeys forage at the edges of woods. It seems that natural life of every kind thrives in the state. The train passes by fields of cotton, corn, and beans-- but especially of the cash crop cotton. Worked by humble families living in humble houses. It seems that about every one of them has a hog pen, many with at least one gigantic hog in it.


Paladin notices some of the bigger houses have little yard-high sheds out in their yards, arranged in grids. He's mystified as to what their purpose might be, until the tracks pass by a closer one. Outside of some of the houses are big, colorful, magnificent-looking roosters, with one leg tied by a long tether to a peg in the ground by a shed's open entrance. Fighting roosters, being raised either as fighters or sires, or both.


After a long day of of traveling and stopping at a few towns for passengers, livestock, coal and water, the train approaches the city of Little Rock. At some distance to the north, Paladin sees what must be the Ozark Mountains. Clem in Texarkana had advised about the beautiful mountain scenery on the way to Little Rock, but he must have been pulling
Little Rock in the 1870s

It's spanned by a railroad and road traffic bridge. The man seated next to him says, That's the Arkansas River, mister. And that's the Little Rock. He points to a rock outcropping in the far riverbank. It was a landmark fer the first explorers and settlers. They marked their maps with it. The train crosses the bridge, and soon Paladin sees the forks of side tracks indicating the approach to a railyard. Along the way he notices a vast, very smelly hog pen and slaughterhouse, a barber shop, a general store, River Hotel & Inn, a large stable and corral, Farmers' Savings & Credit Bank, Jackson's Saloon, the 1st Baptist Church and its school, Neff's Billiard's and Saloon, the city marshal's office,signs for a blacksmith and leatherworker, and Birdie's Dance Hall. And behind the city, to the north, the Ozarks.

The train pulls up and stops at a station with a sign reading, LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS. And hanging below it, a smaller one lettered with, Welcome to Little Rock, State of Arkansas
City Ordinances:
1. Bars and Liquour Stores are closed all day on Sundays.
2. Bars and Saloons close every night at 10:00 PM, except for Saturdays at 12:00 Midnight.
3. Women of Ill Repute are not welcome in the City.
4. Firearms cannot be carried in the Streets, Stores, Government Offices, Churches, et. cetera, unless they are unloaded firearms being transported from place to place. Such items shall be carried in a container or sack. And carried butt first.
Comply with the law and do not make any trouble and you will get along fine. Welcome to Little Rock.
-City of Little Rock Marshall's Office.

It's 7:38 PM, Thursday, June 18, 1873.

[Grognardsw]

Paladin accepted Mr. Polly’s offer of $20 for the saddle.

“Good bye Copper, you served me well.”

The gun fighter thanked the postman for his telegram edits.

Paladin enjoyed the scenery. He was partial to greener lands, trees and water compared to the deserts and rough terrain of Texas. He listened with interest to his fellow passenger’s narration of the meaning and origin of Little Rock.

He alternated gazing out the window with reading Verne’s Around the World in 80 Days. He was half-way through it.

After the train came to a stop, Paladin disembarked. At the station, he checked the schedule for the next leg of his journey. Likely Dodge City.

Paladin read the marshal’s sign with unease; he never like parting with his guns in an unfamiliar city. So Paladin went first to the general store to buy a sack. With his guns in the sack, he headed to the River Hotel to get a room and have dinner.

At the front desk, Paladin inquired about directions to the address of Ruby, Constances’s friend, to whom he was to deliver the letter.

[jemmus]

At the Little Rock train station, Paladin reads the blackboard with tomorrow's train schedules.
Cairo, Illinois - 6:15 AM
St. Louis, Missouri - 6:45 AM
Texarkana, Arkansas-Texas - 7:15 AM
Belerin, Arkansas - 8:00 AM

He steps into the street in front of the station. Three men are hanging out in the area, each on his one. One appears to be a habitual drunkard. He was sitting at the edge of the station's porch, leaning against the wall, half-asleep and mumbling something to himself. Another seemed to be a ne'er-do-well down on his luck. He said to Paladin from a distance, Evenin, mister. Guide ya around Little Rock? Carry yer saddle bags fer ya? Shine yer boots? The third seems to be hustler or some kind of sharp. He's wearing a suit and vest, both just a little bit shabby, and he wears an oiled handlebar mustache. He comes up to Paladin, tips his bowler hat, and says, Evenin, sir. Saddle bags and no horse, you must be a traveler and a visitor to Little Rock. Paladin notes that the man has an Arkansas accent. Not as heavy as the fellows in Texarkana, but a local accent nonetheless. And you appear to be a sportin gentleman as well. If you're interested in some faro or roulette of the highest quality, I can introduce you to private gaming parlor. First rate, gentlemen only, and completely safe. No laborers, rowdy dock hands, or dirty ruffians. And... if you're businessman, it's a place to associate the cream of Little Rock's men of enterprise.

He then takes notice of Paladin's firearms. My, that is some fine weaponry ya have there, sir. I'd ask to admire them, but a gentleman's weapons are an extension of his hands theirselves. I suppose you already know that loaded firearms can't be carried in the City of Little Rock. Unloaded guns, and only in container or bag. And the general store is closed for the evenin. He points to the building Paladin had seen with the General Store sign. Its windows are indeed dark. I assume you'll be staying in a hotel, sir? So there's the problem of transporting your firearms from here to the hospitality establishment. He thinks a moment. Yes, I can think of a solution. No, two possible solutions. The easier of the two is for me to got the city marshal's office and bring me friend-- cousin actually-- Deputy Marshal Dobbs. He can carry the weapons to your hotel for ya. They'd have to be unloaded, of course, and the ammunition presented. I'd ask that you provide the Deputy Marshal with a gift of one dollar. He savin to wed his belle of many years Martha, and his pay from the marshal's office is very modest. Hardly enough to git by on, much less pay for a ring and a weddin.

The other option is... I have a rifle case at home, not more than a block from here. Big enough to fit your rifle and your pistols too. It was my father's, and he hand-made it for his Sharps rifle, which he cherished very much for bein like the one he carried at the end of the War Between the States. I could let it go, but the price would be a little high, I'm afraid... three dollars.

Later, at the hotel, the clerk looked at letter's envelope. Cross street at the end of Sherman Street. That's just one street over to the west and six blocks up.

Revised after posting to fix a typing error.

OOC
Paladin's bills for today:
Train fare to Little Rock - 154 miles x 4 cents per mile = $6.16
Average hotel - 75 cents
Cheap meals x3 - 75 cents

[Grognardsw]

What would be the next train stop along the way, that will eventually pass through Dodge City?

Train stations always seemed to attract the seedy element.

“No thanks,” Paladin replied to the ne’er-do-well’s offer to guide him.

To the sharp hustler and his private gaming parlor, Paladin said: “Another time perhaps.”

Paladin didn’t like either option the hustler presented about transporting his guns. That a deputy marshal was making money off such “solutions” didn’t speak well of Little Rock lawmen. Maybe the hustler’s cousin wasn’t really a marshal. One could only hope.

Paladin glanced about. In most towns there was usually a hotel near the train station.

“That’s mighty nice of you, sir,” Paladin said friendly, wanting to keep the situation light. He shouldered his saddle bags. “But I have a bag here and rifle sheaths.”

He swung open and emptied his pistol bullets, putting them in his pocket, while saying: “But tell me where I can find you. Tomorrow night I’d like to get into a game.” The lure of possibility could serve in Paladin’s favor.

He put the pistols in the saddle bag, and the sheathed rifle in as far as it could go. He then walked over to the hotel.

Paladin thanked the clerk for Ruby’s address.

“Do you have a hotel safe?”

[jemmus]

The hotel clerk replies, Yes, we have a safe for the hotel and the guests to use. He gestures to a small safe in a corner behind the front desk counter. It's around two feet tall, two feet wide, and 18 inches deep.

The hotel has a dining room, but Paladin doesn't see that it has a bar. The guests seem to be businessmen and other travelers with business in Little Rock, rather than travelers for pleasure. No pretty lady catches his eye, but it seems that he's caught the bashful eye of young one. But a very young one, probably no more than 15 years old, and with her parents and younger brother.

Around 10:30 PM the sky starts to rumble, and before long there are thunderclaps nearby, some almost right overhead. The windows of the hotel rattle and sheets of rain pour. The rainstorm dumps heavy rain on the city for hour after hour, and it seems like it may never stop.