The Frontier Inn

An hour can feel like an eternity depending on the circumstance. Waiting for a train that was fifteen minutes behind schedule was totally different than waiting for tuberculosis to leave a loved one overnight.

While Marshall Dogwood checked his pocket watch in his vest once more, an hour had turned into two hours. Sam shifted nervously, wondering if Dogwood would be waiting an eternity considering painted ladies were known to do things they wanted to do and nothing more. They manipulated men across the Great Plains and even back through history, seducing their alcohol stained breath with words that were promises falling through broken cabin floor boards. Not that Sam was an expert deputy, far from it. But he knew when to call it. He huffed and glanced around Denver as people pushed back and forth passed him like herds of cattle.

“Maybe we should call it and go to another saloon,” Sam suggested. Dogwood raised his eyebrows in warning and Sam immediately clamped his lips shut.

Dogwood again focused, his ears listening for conversations intently. His waiting was expectant, knowing eventually a path would open and he would follow it.

So while the bar behind him was dead and the upstairs man propped up like a doll for sale in a shop window, the rest of Denver had plans to celebrate that Friday night.

“Let’s go,” Dogwood finally spoke into Sam’s impatience. He climbed atop his horse as Sam stumbled up onto his, following Dogwood as he slowly weaved the Main Street of Denver. Saloon after saloon passed until the noise of the Cherry Creek saloon along 17th street greeted their ears.

Painted ladies stood outside and hung about some of the patrons as Dogwood slung his horses reigns out front. He brushed past the crowd to the doorman with Sam in his wake. Sam bumped into the back of him, nearly knocking Dogwood over. Dogwood narrowed his eyes as they turned to challenge Sam. Sam gulped as he fixed his hat and badge. Dogwood turned around to face the doorman. The doorman was beefy and thuggish and spoke gruffly to them both.

“Ain’t no room.”

“Make some,” Dogwood was rougher, attempting to push past the doorman without making a scene. The doorman stopped him across the chest.

“You ain’t hear me? Ain’t no room,” the doorman repeated and revealed his gun holster. Dogwood smiled tightly and then revealed his gun holster and his badge.

“Did you want your mouth rinsed out with buckshot?” Dogwood growled low and quickly.

The doorman grunted in irritation and moved aside as Dogwood pushed the doors open of the saloon, cigar smoke and piano music enveloping everything around him. Sam followed closely behind and glanced in amusement at all the patrons.

Dogwood pushed his way to the back door where the bartender called his name to stop him. Dogwood ignored him, going forward to find four painted ladies dressing while putting on lipstick in the mirror.

“You ain’t welcome here, deputy,” the red headed woman smacked her lips and didn’t even look at Dogwood.

“I’d tell that to the deputy behind me,” Dogwood revealed his badge and the woman still didn’t take her eyes from the mirror.

“I ain’t scared of a badge none, Sheriff,” then she pulled her eyes away from the mirror.

“If I see the Sheriff, then I’ll tell him you said so.”

The woman glanced over Dogwood again but ran her scarf through her fingers, smacking her lips once more. She waltzed over to him and put her mouth close to his.

“And what is a Marshall doin’ in these parts?”

Dogwood didn’t peel his eyes from the woman as the painted ladies whispered amongst themselves.

“Tryin’ to find the lady who wears this,” Dogwood thrust the lipstick from his pocket and held it up for her to see. She pulled back from him as she took the lipstick. She unveiled the color, a deep pinkish red, nearly fully red if the eye wasn’t trained. The woman stared at it momentarily and then handed it back to him.

“This could be anyone’s,” the woman scoffed and then pushed past Dogwood into the noisy saloon behind him. The other painted ladies followed her lead, Dogwood and Sam standing in the room full of trunks of dresses, mirrors, and compacts that held makeup. Sam stared at his reflection in the mirror and adjusted his badge.

Dogwood however was slowly rummaging through their belongings after stowing the lipstick he found at the crime scene back in his pocket. He shook his head and then turned to face Sam.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait… why…?” Sam was flabbergasted, pulling his eyes away from the mirror and then to Dogwood.

“We need to meet a friend.”

Dogwood left Sam standing there momentarily flabbergasted as he brushed into the saloon. Then after a few seconds pushed the back door open again.

“Keep up son. This ain’t no time for lollygaggin’.”

Sam roused from his shock and then followed Dogwood quickly through the piano, men’s laughter, glasses clinking against wood, and the smell of tobacco.

Marshall Dogwood and Sam’s horses slowly made their way through the lamp lit streets of Denver. Finally, they came upon a rickety old building that was sparsely lit with a sign that hung above it, “Frontier Inn.” Dogwood slung his reins over the hitching post and Sam hesitantly followed suit. With even more reluctance, he followed Dogwood into the hotel. He didn’t think he would even call it that as the furniture looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in many years and the floorboards were scraped and bruised like a leather hide.

“Henry, my man,” Dogwood said jovially as a young man with light gray eyes looked up from behind the counter.

“Well if it isn’t a cowpokes cousin!” Henry laughed and came out from behind the counter to hug Dogwood. Sam looked from Dogwood to Henry in confusion. Dogwood was rarely affectionate so to see him hug anyone was jarring.

“Did you fetch Holly?”

“I ain’t fetchin’ that broad,” Henry pulled back and shook his head.

“The one thing I can count on you for always, now you come up short?” Dogwood accused as Henry walked back behind the counter. Dogwood followed him to lean against it.

“Why you need her anyhow? You know her word is like her occupation.”

“Her occupation is precisely why I need her, Henry. Now go fetch her,” Dogwood commanded.

“Dad, I ain’t gettin’ her just because you’re too chicken sh—” Henry cleared his throat and then continued, “Just go get her yerself.”

Sam stood stunned at the revelation that Dogwood had a son and that he wasn’t involved in any law enforcement.

“Boy, this ain’t about to be a show. Go get your wife that you hitched your wagon up to and make useful,” Dogwood’s green eyes challenged his only son and Henry’s gray eyes challenged back. Henry didn’t speak, finally noticing Sam standing there in bewilderment.

“I see you’ve told everyone your ties,” Henry scoffed and moved his eyes back to his father’s. But before he could argue, Holly burst through the door with panic on her face and tears against her cheeks.

“Henry! Oh Henry!” She wailed, marching past Sam but then halting as she laid eyes on her father in law. She loathed him and didn’t understand how her docile husband Henry was related to such a law hawk.

“I hate to say you’re just the man I need right now. But sadly you are,” Holly spat at Dogwood. Both Henry and Dogwood’s eyes raised at her words but Henry’s could’ve touched the roof of the rickety old building.

“There’s been a killin’ up the street at Buffalo Saloon,” Holly wiped her eyes as her bottom lip quivered at the thought of the man she was about to sleep with being found in such a horrible state. Before she could speak again, Dogwood brushed past his son’s wife, who he knew to be religiously unfaithful, and out into the night. Their relationship only made his heart heavy and there was no time for emotional turmoil tonight.

“Wait!” Holly called after him as he put his boot into his stirrup and saddled back up onto his horse, “You don’t know where it is!”

“Buffalo saloon is up the street as you said. Where you work late nights, no?”

Holly’s eyes narrowed and she stopped short at his condescension. Sam averted his eyes at their argument as he saddled up on his horse to follow Dogwood up the street.

“I’ll have you know that I’m in charge over there now,” Holly said proudly. Her brunette hair swept against her back with the light wind rustling up the street as she spoke.

“Then I guess we are both in charge. You, the painted ladies. Me, the entire US federal law,” Dogwood smiled tightly and left Holly standing there on the footsteps of his son’s inn.

When he and Sam were already halfway up the street, Dogwood glanced back to see Holly unmoving from where they just left her. And he absentmindedly wondered if he would end up putting his own family behind bars.