Caroline's head tilts upwards, and her eyes scan the windows of the hotel. She's opening her mouth to speak right as Joaquin shouts, and rather than argue, she simply rolls her eyes and says nothing.
I might be upset too if I were stuck in this town. Still, it might be worthwhile to ask around that hotel later - get some local color for the story.
"The saloon isn't going anywhere," she retorts to Joaquin's suggestion. "Though," she admits after a moment's pause, "neither, I suppose, is our presumptive deceased."
"Still, best to take a look while we can. Then the saloon," she says, glancing sidelong at Stuthman for backup.
Sliding stiffly from his saddle, Mr. Stuthman retrieves his rifle, and begins to hobble toward the church doors: "Just huuhh be a sec, then I'll buy you that whiskey."
Stuthman will listen at the doors (rather than bust into the middle of a service).
Ramirez begins to groan in quiet disgust, but clams up once he notes that Stuthman has decided to bring his gun into a church service. He pauses a moment, wondering if the man has seen something he hasn't.
His eyes go to the reporter rather then their surroundings, though, and one hand finds his deck of cards as he begins to cut and re-cut over and over.
"You a religious lady, Senorita Caldwell?" He does not wait for an answer. "Not me. Not Joaquin. Religion's for the stupid. Praying, it's the same as begging. Did it only once. God wasn't there."
Joaquin spits some black juice down and lets the wad tumble out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and watches Stuthman listening at the church doors.
You find a convenient hitching post and dirty trough and tie up your horses before approaching the church.
You catch a glance of your reflection in the trough water. The face you see looks worried - far more worried than you feel.
Stuthman approaches the church, listening at the front doors.
"There are several different types of men in this world. There are men who dream and never make it out of the saloon. There are men who dream and fail. And then there are men who dream and change the landscape of this world, people like Brother Cheval. What about you, man? That's what I want to know. Aren't you tired of feeling unwanted? Aren't you tired of feeling like an outcast and being stepped upon? Well then today is your day because today is the day that Brother Cheval decided he was going to change everything. Today is the day that hell froze. Today is the day that pigs fly. Today, me and my people looked at fear right in the eye and said 'Mr. Fear, sir, you are a liar'. Today, I want you to go and tell all these so-called world leaders that they better heed my warning: take notice of the Brotherhood of the New Covenant, take notice of Brother Cheval."
Whatever that is it sure ain't from the King James. Peering through the cracks in the door Stuthman sees around nine people in the church listening to a sermon of some kind.
As you step back and look over the church, you notice something strange about the church bell. There's no bell rope.
Brushing off Joaquin's theological musings, Caroline knits her eyebrows together as Stuthman stands at the church door with his rifle. She takes a few hurried steps in his direction. "Are you sure that's entirely-"
She stops dead in her tracks, her eyes trained on a spot higher up on the church building. Slowly, as if trying not to provoke a snake poised to strike, she backs towards her horse. Ignoring the shotgun secured to the horse's tack for the moment, she reaches for the hard black case, popping the catches with a quiet snap.
Joaquin Diego Rigoberto Santiago Ramírez is stunned at his reflection, his hands slowly going up to his face and feeling the expression reflected in the horse water. Though professing not to be a religious man, the words "Madre de Dios..." come quietly from his lips. The monster in his head shifts somehow, but remains silent.
Caroline's movements break his gaze as he snaps back to the situation. Looking about with shifting, darting eyes, he makes a mean, drawn-out grunting noise and flicks his poncho back over his shoulders to reveal his twin weapons. His left hand still holds his cards, cutting and re-cutting in his grip.
"The water..." he begins, generally in Caroline's direction. He sees her backing up and going into her case, feeling tension adding on top of his startling unease, and drops his sentence for a questioning phrase.
"Senorita Caldwell..?"
Stuthman shrugs, absently, turning to the others: "Not a funeral. Sounds like the start of a new cult: Brother Cheval's New Coven..." Seeing the others so agitated, Stuthman freezes, midstride, and hisses a low question: "Wha...?"
With a small upwards tilt of her head, Caroline says simply, "The bell. The one that was ringing earlier. There's no rope."
She scans her surroundings with a newfound alertness, more out of apparent interest than alarm.
"The bell. The one that was ringing earlier. There's no rope."
Joaquin rubs his neck at the mention of this, his hand moving absently under his bloated chins as he looks up a moment at the bell. "The water, it is strange too." He points at the horse trough."That Il Brutto, he looked worried in the reflection."
Mr. Stuthman looks quickly over his shoulder at the church, then hurries away from it toward the others. Taking his canteen from a saddlebag, Stuthman shakily takes a drink, muttering: "That bastard of a Ranger - he knew..."
Steadying himself, Stuthman takes a look at the water trough and the church, wondering what might explain the things they've seen.
The entire group can easily confirm that there is indeed no bell rope for the bell. Glancing in the water is a little less rewarding. You're all pretty worried at the strange happenings around you and the reflection makes no difference.
As you try to take stock of what's happening, the sound of footsteps on wood ring out before the double doors of the church swing open. The members of the New Convenant are a sorry-looking mix of men, women, and two children who look like they're about six months late for a bath and change of clothes. The entire of the church is bathed with multicoloured lights from the stained glass, and in the light the clergy all look battered and bruised.
A man calls out from within the church. "Howdy there! May the good Lord bless you on this be-autiful day!" The crowd parts as he steps out of the church. As he walks into the light, the strange appearance of bruises from the stained glass vanish and he looks like a normal man in priestly raiment. At the end of the church is a curious copper altar which is perfectly reflective.
He smiles widely. The congregation all smile silently behind him.
"We ain't seen new folks in Coffin Rock for weeks now. A plum shame that, but dark times in this here town means visitors are a special blessing. I'm Deacon Plume, standing in for the good Brother Cheval who is leading us to salvation!" He turns to the congregation, raising his hands.
"Hear that! Brother Cheval leads us to salvation! Can I get an amen?!"
The congregation respond with a dutiful 'amen' and keep their eyes fixed on the lot of you, still smiling.
"Now the right - I say the right sorta folks know full well you visit the House of the Lord on your first stop in town and we're happy to see you. Ain't we happy?" They keep smiling. "So how 'bout you introduce yourselves and maybe you can join us in prayer?"
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Caroline quickly steps forward, wishing to forestall any potential response from Joaquin. Though she has little desire to speak to the strange, vaguely menacing man and his flock, she adopts the "I'm so interested in what you have to say" demeanor that she uses to coax information out of reluctant sources.
"Thank you, Deacon, for the warm welcome. I'm Caroline Caldwell, and these are my associates Mr. Stuthman and Mr. Ramirez." She indicates each in turn with a small nod of her head.
All these holy rollers always want to proselytize. The best way to get them talking is probably to engage them on that front - but also make it clear that it's better for them if we leave unaccosted.
"I'm afraid we won't be in town long - just some trivial business, really - but I'm making a bit of a story of the people I meet on our travels for my editors back east. I'm sure they'd love to read anything you might have to say about your faith, if that sounds like something you might be interested in?" She ends her offer with an upward intonation, leaving it out there as a question for the Deacon to answer. She smiles disarmingly and gives her head a small, attentive tilt.
Knowing that three-quarters of religion is empty ritual, Stuthman doffs his hat and begins to lower his head in silent prayer. He's brought up short when Caroline begins to speak - putting his Stetson back on, he unconsciously cocks a head to one side (accidentally imitating the journalist), eager to hear what the priest will say.
Joaquin's demeanour is, unsurprisingly, less affable than his companions at the arrival of the churchgoers. When the talk of the Lord comes, he looks off down the street a long moment and sighs noisily through his big, squashed nose.
Mercifully, he says nothing. His thoughts remain on the unease he feels now following the water and the bell.
The Deacon seems all too happy to take the bait.
"Well, Brother Cheval speaks best for the faith but he's out in the hills trying to right the wrongs that besiege this poor town. We are The Brotherhood of the New Covenant. Brother Cheval has picked us up along his way - all poor lost sheep looking for the right shepherd. Dark times are upon this world he says, and the power of prayer and good men doing good work is what's needed to set things right. He wants to bring light to the darkest places and well, that's why we're here in Coffin Rock."
The Deacon's smile remains fixed. "I'm sure you know 'bout the mines playing out but things have been right strange. Folks saying they see stuff what ain't there, and more lawlessness and crime than ever before. We've been helping the good Marshal Bryce where we can to round up troublemakers, and Brother Cheval has been in the hills to fight the darker things that are out there. Some miners that go out haven't been comin' back and he's fixin' to find them. We mostly just pray here. Pray for this town, pray for his safe return, and we will be praying to the good fortune of our new friends here. Ain't that right?"
There's a murmur of assent from the silent, smiling congregation.
Caroline nods along attentively, making a mental note of points to check on later.
"That's very kind of you. Thank you for taking the time to talk to us. Obviously, we wouldn't want to keep you fine folks any longer, but if you wouldn't mind, perhaps I might inquire with you later about some of the details? I'm sure people would be interested in hearing about the plight of this town."
As if it's an afterthought, she adds brightly, "Oh, and where might we find this Marshal Bryce?"
Stuthman's ear prick at the mention of "dark things in the hills" and draws in a deep breath to ask some more specific questions; hesitates when Caroline begins to speak; chokes, then, on those unuttered words; "*kaff*"; and swallows desperately in an attempt to stave off a fit. The net result is a low gurgling in his throat and a panicked expression on his face.
Finally, in desperation, Stuthman turns to his horse and scrabbles for a sip from his canteen "*Kuhh*". Leaning against the bay, he manages to croak out: "The Lord be with you, brother."
The Deacon tips his head politely to Caroline. "Well ma'am I figure I'd be delighted. You know where to find us. Come on folks, let's not keep these good people any longer. We got the Lord's work to do!"
The congregation turn and make their way back towards the church. As they slowly walk in, the bell sounds.
BBBOONNNNGGGGG
Even the children in the group don't pay it much mind as they head into the doors to close them.
As they walk away, Caroline calls out, asking again, "Thank you. This Marshal Bryce - where might we find him?"
At the sound of the bell, she involuntarily flinches and starts but quickly masters her expression.
Stuthman frowns as the congregation walks away: "Huh... well, don't that ... I don't know that I've ever met churchfolk that don't respond to without a hearty 'And also with you!' That's... almighty strange..." Stuthman seems more perturbed by this than the bell ringing on its own.
He calls over his shoulder. "Other side of town! Head down third and take a right on main street. Ain't too far, nothings too far out here."
With that the doors close behind the congregation. The sun is starting to dip below the hills at this point, although you've got a while before it gets dark proper.
"'And also with you', 'and also with you..'" Joaquin mutters mockingly, only loud enough for his companions to pick up. He spits some tobacco juice on the ground once they turn, a new wad having found a way into his blackened maw to help distract him from the sense of uneasiness. He looks to the others after making some quiet noises of disgust.
"They good for one thing, the churchies. Monsters in the hills? That's where we should go." He adjusts one of his gun belts, sounding determined to confront them. "Only thing worse than a deacon is a Marshal, but you wanna see him and get information? Fine with me. Then we get a drink, then we kill whatever's out there."
He turns, walking towards where he thinks the Marshal might be, lost in his own jumped-to conclusions.
You turn tail and head back to where you came from over by the Jewel Theatre. The wailing woman in the hotel is heard briefly as you pass on by before taking a moment to look over the theatre. Unlike most of the decrepit abandoned buildings in town, this one has some life going on. The grimy windows show silk curtain on the other side and are backlit in red. Silhouettes dance behind them and you distantly hear laughter and music.
But that ain't where you're going. Down main street it is. You pass by a few more buildings of note. The library on your right doesn't look so much abandoned as never inhabited, seems like they don't do much reading here. Further down the street is the Assay office - to the city folk among you that means where you swap out your ore for gold. That is still going, although looks like it's closed early as a man heads out and locks up before making his way to the Saloon.
You make the intersection of Main and 2nd Avenue, following the man from the Assay Office who doesn't seem to pay you any mind. Facing the street from one another are the Six Feet Under Saloon and a looted-out hardware store.
Joaquin can't help but rubberneck at the saloon a little and the swinging doors burst open as he does. A rough-looking miner goes flying out followed by four miserable bastards in cowboy hats bearing deputy stars on their coats.
"You keep the Marshal's name out of your filthy mouth you son of a whore!" shouts one as he viciously kicks the miner in the ribs. The deputies surround the man and begin viciously beating him, cursing him out for apparently speaking ill of Marshal Bryce.
Joaquin smiles broadly, almost gleefully, elbowing the horses his companions are upon as he walks between them. It's the West, after all, and he's seen this scene frequently; when it isn't happening to him, watching someone get a beating is a fun spectacle that breaks up the monotony. He begins to chuckle loudly as his unease washes quickly away.
"Hehhehhehhehheh...! Don't talk no sh*t about the Marshal, eh Senor Stuthman? Good lesson to learn from over here! Hehhehhehhehheh...!"
While Caroline isn't unaccustomed to violence, having seen all sorts of horror on the front lines, she's still not entirely used to having it break out right in front of her.
As the group tumbles out of the saloon, she stops and gawks blankly for several seconds, staring wide-eyed at the one-sided confrontation.
Her sense of justice, however, gets the better of her at the sight of one helpless man being ruthlessly attacked by four. She snaps out of her reverie and, without any real plan to speak of, decides to improvise.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." she calls brightly, addressing them as if she had completely failed to notice the beating they were delivering.
Il Brutto's chuckling stops with a croak of surprise as Caroline speaks, and he places an equally-surprised hand on the side of her leg softly. He is surprised by this small act of protectiveness as anyone, and withdraws it immediately as he raises his ugly face up from under his sombrero.
He looks at her silently, but his eyes speak volumes. What are you doing?, they say. Don't get involved, señorita.
Stuthman eyes the conflict mildly and is prepared to walk past. He quirks an eyebrow as Caroline pulls up and addresses the attackers, but stops alongside her.
Seeing the reporter prepared to engage these ruffians, the pallid undertaker retrieves then checks his rifle as unsubtly as possible.
The deputies stop their kicking the moment Caroline calls over to them. One of them grins, slicks back his eyebrows, and saunter over - but not before mule-kicking the downed man in the dust behind him. He tips his hat.
"Well ain't you a purty thing to come wandering over to Coffin Rock. Don't mind us, we're lawmen and we gotta keep a sense of proper decorum over this here town. Good thing we found you - as you can see we were distracted from our usual duties by this here troublemaker. Elsewise we woulda greeted you upon entry, make sure the toll is paid up proper. Need to get a little dinero out of travelers, help the uh... hey Billy what's that word?"
The deputy presumably called Billy spits on the beaten man. "Infrastructure."
"That's it. Infrastructure. Dollar for the lot of ya should do the trick."
Joaquin keeps his sombrero drawn down low over his eyes, and his lone remaining dollar closer.
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Lovely. Crooks as well as violent brutes. Well, if all else fails, bury them in nonsense and flattery and see if they can dig their way out.
Caroline's smile never falters despite the shakedown and implied threat.
"Well, we're certainly interested in the town's well-being. As a matter of fact, we were just on the way to speak with this...Marshal Bryce, was it?...about your difficulties of late. You see, I'm a repo-"
She pauses, rolls her eyes, and lets out an exasperated sigh.
"How incredibly rude of me. Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. My name is Caroline Caldwell, formerly of the Manhattan Tribune. I've been traveling this region collecting stories for a feature - or even a book, should I be so fortunate - to be printed back east. My editor tasked me with recording every detail and interaction, so, well, here we are."
She smiles brightly, as if she's oblivious to the implications. With barely a pause to let that statement sink in, she bulls forward, rattling off her monologue without an opportunity for the men to interject.
"As for my companions here, well, surely worldly men such as you know how dangerous it can be out here. To my immense good fortune, they have (despite their appearance) proven admirably adept at dealing with all manner of threat, whether it be on two legs or four. Why, there was this group of bandits- Oh, but listen to me prattle on. Apologies, gentlemen. We've been riding all day. We just spoke with your...local congregation?...and they gave us some idea of your present difficulties, and we assessed that we'd best speak with the marshal post-haste before making any effort to get ourselves settled. I don't suppose you would be so kind as to point the way, or perhaps- no, you're clearly far too busy to take us there yourselves."
She gives her head a small tilt, calculated to convey both an unspoken question and just a hint of guileless helplessness.
Mr. Stuthman sits silently, staring intently at the miner on the ground. Run! Now! he shouts in his mind, lifting his chin slightly when the man looks at him and the deputies are focused on Caroline.
The deputies stop kicking the man as they entirely focus on Caroline. The miner slowly, painfully crawls his way back into the saloon as they wander over.
"Well a reporter is it? Lookin' to put us in the papers?" He spins around, hands wide. "Extra extra Coffin Rock's a shithole!"
The other men start laughing but one nudges the deputy who was speaking to Caroline. "If she's gonna report on this place, best she talk to the Marshal. He may get mad if'n he's unhappy with what we says."
After a bit they all nod and gesture to the saloon. The badly wounded miner's legs are sticking out from under the swinging doors and slip into the saloon. "Marshal is just having a drink."
---
You step through the doors into the Six Feet Under, which is packed. Tables are scattered haphazardly around the saloon; the place has obviously seen better days. The two windows flanking the front entrance are caked with enough dust as to be almost opaque. A staircase with a rickety railing leads up to a landing, and several wooden doors lead to other rooms. A dirty chandelier provides feeble lighting,
even during the day.
A scarred bar runs the length of the room. The stools are filled with townsfolk and miners drowning their sorrows. The wall behind the bar is covered by a filthy, cracked mirror. The crack bisects everything reflected in it.
A piano player is happily providing music to the place and you can feel eyes on you as you step in. The beaten miner has rejoined some surly-looking folks at a table. Another table near the door hosts a fat, sour man proudly bearing the Marshal's star. The deputies gesture to the table.
Marshal Bryce stands up as you approach and does not extend a hand. "What in sam hell are a sorry-looking lot like you folks doing in my town?"
Inside Joaquin's head, the dragon stays mercifully quiet. Il Brutto follows its lead, slowing his pace to arrive behind his companions so that they may speak instead of him. It smells bad, this town, and Joaquin does not like it.
His dark eyes slip side to side from under his pulled-down sombrero, watching their background suspiciously.
I suppose it was too much to ask that the marshal wouldn't ALSO be a dumb brute.
Caroline smiles politely, showing no particular reaction to the marshal's rudeness. She inclines her head slightly by way of greeting.
"Good afternoon, marshal. We just arrived and met your, ah...Brotherhood of the New Covenant, I believe they said? They mentioned you, and an introduction seemed in order."
As she speaks, she sizes the man up, trying to guess what approach to take. He's used to being in charge so probably less likely to be impressed by credentials. Might resent people from back east coming to gawk at his town like some kind of museum exhibit.
Caroline casually sweeps her hand in the direction of the deputies. "As I told these gentlemen, I am in the process of gathering information for an article, or perhaps a book if the material merits, on this region. In truth, though, there's a bit more to it. We've heard at least a little about your current troubles, and we thought perhaps we might be of assistance."
She offers another smile, as non-threatening as she can manage, before adopting a more somber tone.
"We've been all over and seen...well, many things. And we're still standing. So."
She lets that statement stand on its own, watching the marshal with curious eyes as she awaits his reaction.
After dismounting, Stuthman dawdles at his horse, unable to decide whether to leave his rifle with the horse or not. In the end, he decides to carry it with him and hurries after the others.
Nervously pushing his way through the swinging door, Stuthman slumps against the wall just inside the door, his sagging red-rimmed eyes slowly taking in the room as Caroline talks.
...And we're still standing. So."
With these closing words, Stuthman wearily levers himself upright from the wall and gasps: "Maybe you could be specific as to the nature of these troubles, Marshall."
He means this as a direct question, but most of it comes out as a rasping whisper. Except to his own ears, little is audible beyond: "Maybe... trouble, 'shall"
Without further preamble, feeling the eyes of the room on him (though likely few have noticed him until he starts moving), Stuthman slouches across to the bar, walking between his companions and the Marshall. "Three beers."
Joaquin and Stuthman let Caroline speak to the Marshall while they try to get a sense of the place and the crowd.
The man at the piano bears a dirty bandage on his arm and has a kind of faraway look as he walks his way through the Frog Legs Rag. He seems completely checked out and imagining happier times.
A good looking girl who looks like she's fallen on some hard times sits in a corner with an empty glass. As the lot of you walk in, she looks up hopefully and is trying to catch Caroline's eye - although Caroline is firmly concentrating on the Marshal.
A man in a suit with a battered top hat on the bar is hunched over, staring at some whiskey. He's the only one here who looks like he can remember what money once looked like.
The barkeep fixes Mr. Stuthman with an unfriendly stare but procures the beer nonetheless. "Fifteen cents." He doesn't seem much for talk.
Joaquin and Stuthman also notice something peculiar as they peer around the room. A water stain here, or a plaster crack there, and you keep spotting the shape of that damned bluff outside. When you look close, it's gone, but out of the corner of your eye you see the shape of coffin rock overshadowing the town.
---
The Marshal fixes an unfriendly eye at Caroline. You're certain his reek would be overpowering if Il Brutto hadn't been your companion for the past couple weeks. He has the manners of an unlit stick of dynamite. "Here's the story. Folks gone missing around this town. I'm fixin' to stop it. Anything else y'hear is poppycock and nonsense. I don't need no reporter snooping around my town and sticking her nose where it's gonna cause a scene. This is a small town with small stories and some yankee print edition ain't gonna care nothing for us. Me being a kindly man, I'll recommend you stay a night and head on your way come sunrise afore trouble finds you. Hear?"
*snort* "Ahhehheh aheheheh *kaff* oh, Marshall!"
Mr. Stuthman shakes his head sadly, amusedly. His eyes watering slightly, you gather that between the gasping and wheezing, Stuthman is chuckling. "I think you missed the point - finding trouble is precisely why we're here. Unless you care to deal with what's hiding in the hills on your own - hmmm?"
Taking a pull from a filthy glass, Stuthman slides three nickels across the bar before waving at Caroline and Joaquin, gesturing toward the other drinks.
At the not-so-subtle threat, Caroline’s smile transforms into something sweetly acidic.
Won’t Care? On the contrary, I’m working on a 12 part series entitled “Notable Buffoons of the West”. You’d be perfect.
She doesn’t say this, of course, but she can’t completely restrain her irritation. She’s about to ask pointedly, ”Can I quote you on that?”, but she’s only just opened her mouth to speak when Stuthman answers instead.
Content to let him deal with this self-important blowhard for the moment, she quickly scans the saloon for anything of interest or anything that might come in handy during the current back-and-forth.
Joaquin, his eyes lingering lecherously over the petty woman in need of a drink, groans inwardly again as Stuthman speaks and snaps back into unease. His gaze notes the beaten miner, a reminder of what happens when you cross the local law, and he wonders what the hell his companions are doing.
He keeps his sombrero pulled low and his shotguns mostly hidden under his poncho.
As Caroline looks around she looks eyes with a woman sitting at a table, she looks worriedly to the Marshal but makes a hesitant "come here" gesture nonetheless.
"That we can, partner." The Marshal stands to his feet. "Whatever troubles plague this town ain't none of your concern. I'll repeat mah offer. Git on outta my town by sunup tomorrow and enjoy your stay here. Come on boys, it's sundown. Time to round up some troublemakers."
It's at this point you notice the pianist has stopped and nobody is saying a word. Giving all of you an unfriendly eye, Marshal Bryce moves to make his way out of the bar. As he exits you can feel the relief in the area. The piano starts up again, and everyone gets chatty once more. The injured miner rejoins his companions after spitting out a tooth.
Exhaling forcefully through his nose as the Marshall leaves, Mr. Stuthman turns to pick up the other two mugs of beer and walks over to Joaquin. Offering Il Brutto a beer, he says conversationally (and at his usual volume): "What's his problem?"
Joaquin takes the beer thanklessly, shrugging. "He's an a@@~$+&," he replies simply before pulling on the bottle's contents. "All lawmen are a!@&@%~s, senor. Steer clear of him. Unless he gets in the way, then we shoot him in the face."
Now full of false bravado, he turns to the now-friendlier scene before him for a card game to ease his sense of dread about this place.
Though Caroline's lips remain curved in a smile as she watches the marshal depart, all trace of warmth or friendliness retreats from her eyes. She stares at the door for a moment longer before turning back to the room. Her eyes fix immediately on the nervous woman and, without a backwards glance, she heads over.
She stops just in front of the table. Leaning forward to rest her folded arms atop the back of a chair, she says, "With hospitality like that, I can't imagine why this town doesn't have more visitors."
She offers a small, sardonic smile to the woman before indicating with a tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow that she's listening.
The miners, including the one who just got his sorry hide kicked in, look like they're about to play a hand of Faro. They look like miserable sons of b*&!~es - in short, Il Brutto may fit in just fine.
The woman meets Caroline's eyes, looking a little nervously to Joaquin. "Sorry ma'am I beg your deepest pardons but I'm in a bit of a spot and looking for some good folks who can help me out. You've got kind eyes, and I don't see too much of that 'round Coffin Rock these days."
Left on his own when Joaquin wanders off to join the card game, Mr. Stuthman's eyes slide across the bar once more, hoping to catch a sharper look at the images in the mirror (etc.).
Instead, his gaze drifts to the bandage on the piano player's arm. Absently plunking the third beer down in front of Caroline as he passes, Stuthman slips across the room to stand next to the battered instrument. Nodding to the player, he takes a quick sip of beer before asking "So, how's the arm? Anything serious?"
Joaquin watches the stakes a long moment before trudging over, pulling a chair back, and slamming it down. He presents his terrible, mean grin as he plops into it and bellies-up to the table.
"I have a dollar," he says, slamming it down. "Who wants to try to take it from a Mexican, eh señors? Hehhehhehheh..."
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Caroline smiles encouragingly. "You seem sane and willing to talk to us, and we haven't seen much of that in Coffin Rock, either."
She leans forward. "Okay, I'm listening. Let's start with your name, maybe? Help give us the lay of the land here and we'll see what we can do."
She slides into a chair opposite the woman and listens intently. Meanwhile, she draws on her experience of interviewing a variety of sources to scrutinize the woman's speech and behavior for anything noteworthy or at odds with what she's saying.
Joaquin settles in at the table. The miners are an angry, unfriendly lot who seem ripe for a fight ('cept the one who just got his teeth kicked in by the Marshall's men) and it's pretty clear they can't be too much. But money is money and soon Il Brutto is in on the game.
For you yankees Faro is a popular card game out here. All cards of one suit are face up on the table, and a 52 card deck is used for play. Bet on the card you want to see, and two cards get turned up - the loser and the winner. If your card ain't either, your chips carry to the next round. The person controlling the chips and flipping the card is the banker. There's more rules, but we don't care about that.
Il Brutto knows his cards, and as the round burns down he makes a few strategic bets. He comes out modestly ahead as the round is done while one of the miners lost a little more money than he'd like. He begins cursing and muttering with a lot more anger than is warranted for someone who just lost fifty cents. . Banker flips to him next and he somewhat feverishly takes the cut cards before burning the first card.
"Place your bets."
As the cards are shuffled and cut, you spot a false cut before they're passed to the new banker. You also get a sense that the men at this table are at the end of a long-burning fuse and might just blow at any moment.
---
Meanwhile, the good Doctor has wandered over to the pianist who is between songs and enjoying a cup of scamper juice. He seems friendly enough and seems quite practiced at staring at nothin' for hours on end.
"Why howdy there. Mike Hall, a pleasure there stranger. Doc Osgood fixed me up just the other day, removed a right painful canker from the forearm. I tell ya, nothing has ever hurt like that procedure but glad it was done. Doc is a smart fella he is."
Stuthman again catches the shape of the coffin bluff outside of the city outlined in some cracks in a window as the sun sets. It's proper dark now.
---
Caroline settles in across from the woman, who is nervous. She looks over critically, noting several details.
- Nobody wears makeup out here unless they're working the stage or the bedroom and this girl has worn some makeup in her time, nail polish too
- Furthering this, there's a scent about her that Caroline manages to pick out: pennyroyal, an effective but dangerous form of contraception
- However she's currently dressed in the sort of uniform you'd use for work, and a propped broom near her indicates she may be working here yet on break
- She seems deeply, truly bothered by something and scared of everyone here. Doesn't seem to be much malice to her.
At Caroline's mention of sanity she actually lets out a bitter laugh. "Lord save us you have no idea, Miss. Things have been feelin'... bad here. I - look, I'll cut to it. I need someone to do me a favour. I don't have much money but I'm willing to help out however ya need for what brings you here. I heard tell about writin' a book, no shortage of stories here and you'll need friends to hear 'em."
She points out the doors to the south. "I watch things. I know. Y'all came from the south end of town by the Jewel Theatre. Only place still in business around here 'cept the saloon. I came there for work servin' miners... problem is my sisters there. The other girls working the Theatre. They've cracked. Gone sick. Talkin' about hurting people, grinning smiles that ain't funny. I fled afore they came after me 'cause I didn't see what was so funny. But I left some stuff there. It's all I've got left of my family. I need someone to get it back."