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<h2>VII</h2> Tesno circled the buckboard in the wide street and pulled it up parallel to the hitchrail in front of the Pink Lady. Not liking his errand, he swung slowly out of the seat and fussed over the tying of the team. As always, Tunneltown depressed him. Midnight closing was observed now, but rather loosely. As far as he knew, only one gambler had been invited to leave, and he, Tesno suspected, had been cheating the house. Aside from a sarcastic quip or two about the council's half-hearted progress in doing what it had agreed to do, Ben Vickers had said nothing. But there were signs that his patience was nearing its end. Tesno vaulted the hitchrail and moved toward the open doorway, the hum and stench of the saloon setting his nerves on edge. A voice called his name, and he found himself gaping at the figure approaching along the boardwalk. "Howdy," Whisky Willie Silverknife said. He was wearing a black vest with a star pinned on it. He was grinning from ear to ear. The star flashed mirror-bright in the afternoon sun. "Howdy," Tesno said. "I got me a d-d-deputy m-marshal job." "I see. When did you start?" "L-last night. Not that I arrested anyb-body yet." "Madrid hire you?" "Yes. Miss P-Persia had it all fixed." Willie frowned. "I d-don't know how I'm going to get along with Madrid. I mean, he d-don't give me instruction or anything. He says, 'Sit on your d-duff, d-draw your p-pay, k-keep your mouth shut and your nose c-clean.' Mr. Tesno, c-could I have a t-talk with you?" "About what?" "I want to l-learn this b-business of b-being a p-p-peace officer." "I've got a chore to do right now," Tesno said. "How about tomorrow?" "F-fine. I'm off d-duty in the morning." Willie's hand slid around to his hip and came up with the flask he carried there. It was filled with a colorless liquid, of which he took a long swig. "Lemon soda," he said, licking his lips. "Miss Persia says st-stammer or not, a deputy can't go around nipping whisky all day." He seemed to be completely serious, and Tesno suppressed a laugh. "Does it work as well?" "Miss Persia says it will. She says the important thing is to w-wet my wh-wh-whistle." Persia hand-picked this kid for the job, Tesno thought. Why? He said, "See you tomorrow," and pushed on into the saloon. He stood blinking after the bright sunlight of the street, searching the big, dim room till he spotted Vickers' general superintendant, Keef O'Hara, who was seated alone at a back table behind a bottle and glass. O'Hara was a tall, muscular man with wild gray hair and wild blue eyes. When he was sober, he had an air of competence and of bouyant energy that commanded respect. Now he sat slumped forward on one elbow, slack-faced and limp. "And what'll the trouble-man be wanting?" he said when Tesno approached. "Surely it'll not be whisky with the dew still on the grass and the sun scarce clear of the ridgetops. Only the Irish drink at this hour." "It's three in the afternoon, Keef," Tesno said. He pulled out a chair and sat down across the table. O'Hara sighed alcoholically and poured himself a fresh drink. "And ye've come to sober me up for the night shift, eh, laddy-buck? I might've expected it. What Ben Vickers can't do himself, he sets his man to." "Ben didn't send me, Keef. Far as he knows, you're asleep in your cabin." Tesno extended a hand to restrain O'Hara from lifting his glass. "Time to break it off now, get some coffee." "I can stand another nip or two, lad." O'Hara slyly transferred his drink to his other hand and sloughed it down. "Don't ye know I've been working all night?" "I know. You and a bottle. You're due back on the job in three hours, and you've had no sleep." O'Hara stared belligerently and reached for the bottle. Tesno beat him to it and kept it out of his reach. The superintendant seemed about to leap for Tesno's throat, then he was suddenly meek. "Keef O'Hara a slave to the demon rum! 'Tis a sad end for a man." "Keef, you've bossed tricky construction jobs all over the world. If your skill was ever needed, it's here and now. You know what Ben's up against. Now let's get out of here and sober up." "Lad, why do you think I signed on with Ben Vickers?... For the same reason half the terriers came up here. We're a breed apart, lad—superintendant or shovel bum. We can't live with civilization. We're boozers or fighters or skirt-chasers or wife-beaters or all of those. Try to live in a town and we wind up in jail or sick or dead. So we seek out a camp where there's work and good air and no temptation, where a man can sweat off the blubber and save his pay and be at peace with himself. And what did they do to us here amidst the wildest mountains in the land? They built a town! A fine manner of town with all the temptations...." Tesno stood up impatiently. "We've finished with the preliminaries, Keef. Now we're going back to camp." O'Hara got to his feet, drawing himself up straight. His big frame teetered and he almost fell. "I'll fight ye another day, Bucko," he said. "When the spirits are better and I've not been the night on the job." He allowed himself to be led away. At the far end of the bar a nattily dressed little man drained his glass of buttermilk and dabbed at his beard with a silk handkerchief. Pinky Bronklin removed the empty glass. "J. Keef O'Hara," Mr. Jay said, tucking the handkerchief into his breast pocket. "He's still the best engineer in the Northwest. I'll wager he's the only man here who's had experience with compressed air drills." "Except you, Mr. Jay," Pinky said. "Except me," Mr. Jay said. <hr class="tb" /> That evening Tesno had dinner with Persia, as he often did now. Sam Lester was there, too, and he spent the whole time with them instead of returning to his office when the meal was finished. He sat, sipped brandy, read a newspaper; once in a while he even entered the conversation. When they had moved into the parlor and were sipping brandy, Persia mentioned that they had put on a new deputy. "I know," Tesno said. "I'm wondering why you picked Willie." "The council thought him suitable." "He said you recommended him." Persia shrugged. "He's a nice boy. He seems qualified." "A breed kid who stutters?" "What do you mean?" "He's part Indian." "He's not a reservation Indian. He's a citizen, and—" "Then you did know," Tesno said. "He doesn't look Indian," Sam put in. "He'll be all right if he keeps his mouth shut." "If you know him at all, you know he won't," Tesno said. "And that bottle of lemon pop! Seems to me you went out of your way to pick a man nobody will listen to." "You wanted a deputy," Sam grumbled. "The town will be better patrolled. Aren't you ever satisfied?" "Never!" Persia said, laughing. "That's one of the things I like about him." Her eyes sought his, and they were amused and affectionate and possessive. "How about a game of three-handed euchre?" she said. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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