further exploits of thaiff carson -- the golden colossus hostelry...

The great Indian fighter, Waldo Cantrell, scout and hero of the Cheyenne-Arapaho Wars was blind drunk. Tall, with fringed buckskin vest, bear claw necklace and eagle feathered cap, he presented still, an inspiring sight. Useless now with no more Indians to fight, Waldo had more time on hand than he could productively use. Getting up from a table, Tom walked over and sat down across from the older man." Maybe you should eat something, Wal. Roast mutton here's pretty decent ",Tom suggested.

Emerging from fog enough to recognize Tom, Waldo dismissed his advice with a wave. He insisted Tom sing him, "Bring the Barley" ,an old drinking song. "Nobody sings that like you, Tommy boy ." Waldo patted Tom's face like a favorite kid brother. Tom chuckled at drunken Waldo and obliged.

Cantrell drifted in and out of fog. "As I recall, Tom, I owe you nine dollars." Not realizing they were left emptied, turned inside out, Waldo fumbled at his pockets.

"Forget it, Wal" ,Tom replied looking downwards.

"A man can't hold nothing out here, "Cantrell growled. "If we fought and won them wars and won this land, how in God's sweet name we lose everything so fast?"

" Hell, I don't know Wal . You're asking the wrong person. I'm in Colorado working for the son of the Illinois dry goods man who owned my Pa by the bollocks. Tom shook his head, shrugging. Waldo was snoring when Tom noticed the new girl watching him from the stairs.


The Golden Colossus Hostelry never closed. Drinking, gambling, music, or whoring went on all hours, but the times around dawn sporadically saw lulls in activity. The gambling tables' insatiable appetites somehow managed to miss Tom Reed's last few dollars. He'd pull out late the next morning on special assignment for his occasional employer, Joss Seward. A little feminine companionship would be nice Tom thought since he hadn't won anything at the tables. He didn't know how long he'd be gone and because of the nature of his work the next day, could risk getting only pleasantly drunk.

Most of Joss' girls upstairs were either with their last clients of the evening, or had already locked themselves in for the night. Tom was a little surprised to see Lucinda, the attractive new girl coming down the stairs and peering directly at him. She lingered when she appeared to have his attention and seemed to give her best "Are you interested?" smile.

Tom rose from the table, bringing his whiskey bottle. In Lucinda's small room that she paid Joss a big percentage of her earnings for, she sniffed Tom-likely from precaution-as she took the coins he handed. Apparently finding him no more objectionable than any other man she had been with, she asked him about his moniker. Tom related the story and believed her gaze began to lose more of its inaccessibility. That she bothered to ask about his unwarranted handle's origin, made her seem more likable to him.



"You don't smell any more than most men", Lucinda said, testing the air around Tom.
"Sweat and horses, no worse than usual. So why they call you 'Stinkin' Tom ?"

"Joss Seward brought it here from Illinois," he replied.

"You knew Mr. Seward?" she asked.

"We were kids, grew up there. I had this old dog. Wasn't much, but I loved that mutt. Well one day we call ourselves 'hunting'--neither one could hit anything back then. We flushed some pheasant from tall grass. Joss had his Pa's new bird gun, all I had was a stone sling but by gosh, I flung and nailed one of those birds. Just a lucky toss."

"Old Joss missed completely --the whole flock. He didn't hit nothing'. Finally I outdid him at something. We're walking home . My chest is out all proud -bringing home food for my family's table. That dog started barking and ran ahead. My dumb dog cornered some skunks. I ran to get Barkin'…"

"You named your dog 'Barkin'?" she giggled.

"Pa named him that. 'Barkin' Fool', Pa called him. 'What the Hell's that Barkin' Fool yelping about now ? " Tom chuckled, imitating his father's irritation.

"I grabbed Barkin in time to save him, but old Joss, laughed and threw a stick to hit the skunks, so me and Barkin both got sprayed."

"Joss dubbed me 'Stinkin' Tom', the nickname stuck", he chuckled.

"That bird was ruined though, we went hungry that night." he added softly.