Free Double Mountain Crossing by Chris Scott Wilson

Clay.”
    â€œSo you see, Morgan, I have to work. When I’ve saved enough I’ll buy a ticket on the stage to California . That’s where my uncle is.”
    Morgan sipped thoughtfully at his whiskey. “Surely you don’t earn much as a saloon girl. Those stagecoach tickets cost a lot. Only the girls who work out back would be able to afford that”
    Anne Marie dropped her eyes again in shame. “I don’t work out back…but sometimes if I like a man enough and he’s been kind to me, then I just might let him take me home…”
    There it was, he thought. Like all the rest, she was for sale too. A subtler approach, but it was all the same. He gazed across the table at her well kept hair and her smooth complexion. She seemed a genuine woman. From where he sat he had a good view of her ample bosom so well displayed by her dress. He wondered if she smelt nice too.
    Anne Marie raised her eyes and saw his pensive expression. He was in the bag. She almost laughed out loud. Some of these men were on the trail so long they became woman shy. Especially with her. They thought if you didn’t look available then you weren’t tempted by dollars. Well, she supposed the woman-shy ones were better than the ones who couldn’t wait to paw, in such a hurry they treated you like dirt, climbing on and grunting like pigs for a few seconds, then rolling off to reach for the nearest bottle. At least the woman-shy ones left you feeling human.
    Shy and quiet as he was, he would be easy meat. She would let him down plenty of the potent Irish whiskey. He would be thirsty and unused to it after all the time on the trail, then she’d take him back to his room so they could find out where he slept, and with a bit of luck he would collapse before he could get her on the bed. Shuck would follow and be on hand to help her roll him when he passed out. Once they had the security of that lovely fat bankroll they could hightail it out of this crummy dust hole of a town.
    It was easy to smile sincerely when your mind could only think of those piles and piles of green folding dollars that could buy heaven.
    â€œWhiskey okay?”
    â€œSure,” he answered, sipping at the amber liquid. He toyed a little with the glass then stood it back on the tabletop. She leaned over and made sure the glass was filled and that hers too appeared full, as though she was matching him glass for glass. The bottle was almost empty now and his eyes were beginning to sparkle.
    She could read what was in them easily.It was the way they continually returned to the promise of her low neckline. He was almost primed, ready for the hook.
    â€œYou okay, honey?” she asked, feigning concern.
    â€œUh?” he replied, frowning as he tried to focus.
    â€œWould you like me to help you back to your room? If you lay down for a while you’ll feel better.”
    â€œYeah, sure,” Morgan slurred, a little more than necessary.
    â€œRight,” she said, rising to place a supporting arm around him. They stood and paced slowly to the batwing doors.
    Morgan wasn’t sure what was going on, but he didn’t like it. If she thought a little Irish whiskey would lay him out like a fresh growed boy then she was ignorant of men like him. He would have found it humorous if he had not detected more serious undertones. He must have drunk more whiskey in his life than water, and mostly hadn’t worried whether the bottles carried labels or not. He was a little light-headed, sure, but that was only all that clean living up in the mountains. Hard work and regular grub had flushed out his system.
    Whatever she was up to, Morgan decided he would play along and see what turned up. Then he saw it. It was the way she glanced furtively at the man playing cards, coupled with the way he returned her look. The gambler was familiar. The eyes and that thin face. He was the one that had been in the bank and on the boardwalk outside