The Last Muster

Jodie locked the door to the crib where she had lived since Christine McQueen had her put out on the street. It was June 24th, and just as Big Billy had promised, Jodie now had enough money in the San Miguel Valley Bank to walk away from the cribs. Today was her last day in Telluride—yet even at that—it had been hard to say good-bye to Big Billy. As Jodie walked up Pine Street to Colorado Avenue, preoccupied with the thought of leaving, climbing above the San Juan Mountains the summer sun would have been uncomfortable without a hat or umbrella, if it had not been for the cool breeze blowing down Colorado Avenue from the Sheridan mine. By choice Jodie had no hat or umbrella—both seemed to identify with the whore she had been—and once she withdrew all her money from the bank, there would be more than enough for the stage to Montrose and then the train through Salt Lake City to San Francisco, where no man would ever use her again—not for money nor love—not unless she wanted him to! And for a very long time, if ever, she was determined love in particular would not be trusted again! “Hello, Miss Fillmont.” James Davis had just tied his single rig buggy to the horse rail outside his office. Along with the San Miguel Valley Bank, he was the owner of the stage line that would take her out of Telluride. And though it was unknown to Christine McQueen that he had paid his way into Jodie’s bed more than once since Jodie had moved to Pacific Avenue, Jodie knew he was Christine’s other interest—a weasel just like her husband Calhoun. “Hello, James.” Most of the men Jodie had known in the months since January were already blurring in her memory. James Davis, however, like Calhoun McQueen, was one man she would try extra hard to forget! “What brings you out here this early? Thought you working girls never got up before noon?” “James, if I cared . . . I’d tell you it was none of your damn business! But seeing as it does concern you, somewhat . . . I’m taking my money out of the San Miguel Valley Bank and I intend to give it to Big Billy. As part owner in the Senate, I won’t have to sleep with the likes of you, anymore. None of my girls will either!” As Jodie walked on down Colorado Avenue, she knew James would find out soon enough, when she came back from the bank to buy a ticket to Montrose, that she had lied to him about the money she was taking out of the San Miguel Valley Bank. Even so, it gave her a certain satisfaction, telling him he was not welcome in her bed anymore. Like her father and then Calhoun McQueen, he took whatever he wanted whenever it fancied him, not caring who or what he ruined. As for the other girls, at least in the Senate, except Missy Gardet, they didn’t like him, anyway. Just before eleven, when Jodie walked back outside after withdrawing her money, in front of the bank there were two cowboys leaning against the hitching rail, holding the reins to four horses. They had not been there when she went in. Tom McCarty she knew, but the younger man was a stranger—yet he looked surprisingly enough like Bob Parker to be his younger brother. Tom McCarty, Bob Parker, and Matt Warner had been in Telluride since Saturday, when they rode in from the Carlisle Ranch northwest of Monticello just across the Colorado border in Utah Territory. Until now they had stabled their horses at Searle’s livery, while Matt Warner and Tom McCarty had spent a lot of money gambling and drinking with the girls in the saloons. And though Jodie never saw Bob Parker drink much—he usually just watched the others play cards—she did remember him drinking with James Davis in the Senate, and it was Bob Parker that had just entered the bank with Matt Warner as she was leaving. But the other man, the one already in the bank when she went in, who was he? He had kept his face turned away so she could not see what he looked like, though right away she had noticed him—he was hard to miss—standing what seemed almost four inches above Bob Parker, and Bob Parker wasn’t a little man. Jodie looked up the street, wondering where he had left his horse. It was certainly not out here in front of the bank, and that could only mean he was not with Bob Parker, whatever his reason for being there. Jodie nodded at the boy she thought was Dan Parker, and then smiled at Tom McCarty. It was easy to see she made them nervous. Yet, in the way they were acting, it was obvious it was not her charm that disturbed them—nor was it being seen with a whore from Pacific Avenue in broad daylight on Colorado Avenue that concerned them, either. Quickly turning around, Jodie looked through the bank window just as Randy stepped in front of the teller and reached for his gun. Then to her surprise at her sudden out of character concern for someone she had just seen only minutes before and had not even met, realizing she wanted to yell out, Jodie could only silently watch, helpless, as Matt Warner in one quick motion yanked his pistol out of its holster and shot the tall cowboy in the back before his .44 cleared the holster tied low on his leg.