From Drew Blood: We find our hero victorious after his first contest against the legendary giant Man Mountain Casteen. With one more...
From Drew Blood:
We find our hero victorious after his first contest against the legendary giant Man Mountain Casteen. With one more match to go, Montana is desperately trying to hide his skills and appear the underdog. Sam Arkin is taking care of Montana’s side betting- is this a recipe for disaster? With Casteen unconscious on the street, Montana slowly stands up…
Montana slowly stood up. He continued to favor his ribs. As he stood up, he winced and limped around the ring. The crowd now believed him to be seriously injured. They witnessed his fluke victory. He was still the underdog.
He noticed Jack trying to climb up onto the ring platform. Some men in the crowd were preventing Jack from climbing in the ring. In a pained voice, Montana told them it was fine for Jack to come up. Jack burst through the men and made a frantic jump onto the platform. “Montana, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Jack. Help me down off this.”
Jack made a clumsy effort to support Montana as the two sat down and scooted off the side of the platform. The crowd didn’t clamor around Montana. He could hear a few shout, “You got lucky, kid!” Most were still in awe about the unconscious, giant man tangled up in wood and rope laying in the street. As they limped away, Montana could hear a splash and a series of grunts and confused snorts. Someone had thrown a bucket of water on Casteen to wake him up.
“Sorry, Montana. I couldn’t get through the crowd. They wouldn’t let me help.” Jack was wracked with guilt he hadn’t been able to second Montana. He seemed to take personal responsibility for the calamity. The truth was, Montana was the one feeling guilty. He had completely forgotten about Jack in the buildup.
“Don’t worry about it, Jack. You did just what I needed.” Jack led Montana up the street and into a barber shop. The shop was empty and Jack pushed open a back door which led to a small corral. Once through the corral, they were directly across from the Red Bird. Montana hadn’t realized they were so close.
“I put your bag back in your room,” Jack said. Montana nodded thanks and the two headed across the street toward the saloon. There was a crowd at the north end of the street and Montana could see a match taking place.
“Who’s wrestling up there?” Montana asked Jack.
“Sam and some coal miner.”
They walked into the saloon and were greeted by the condescending tone of Miss Susie.
“Done got yourself hurt, huh? Maybe in over your head?” she laughed.
Montana feigned another wince and chuckled. “Well, I’m in it now. No way out but through.”
“I can think of other ways,” Susie continued. As she berated Montana for his foolishness, she also brought a cup of coffee and a biscuit and pork. “Eat, if you ain’t too bad off.”
Montana thanked her. He asked Jack to find bandages so he could wrap his ribs.
“You’re gonna paint a big target on yourself wearing those,” Susie warned.
“Yeah, that’s the idea,” Montana muttered under his breath. Susie cocked an eyebrow up, but continued to bustle around the saloon, straightening tables and chairs.
“Stockton didn’t put no ring down near my saloon. I bet Shuler over at the Wet Duck is wetting his beak right now. How many people were over there for your match?”
Montana shrugged. “Over a hundred, I’d say.”
Susie looked cross. “A hundred? An’ all of ‘em buying drinks, now, I suppose. I knew this was gonna happen. I need to put myself in this stupid fiasco and wrestle Stockton myself.”
Montana laughed. “He’d be better off just givin’ you the money, Susie. Even I’m smart enough not to tangle with you.”
“You aren’t smart enough for nothin’,” replied Susie, but not harshly. “He ain’t riskin’ that money, Montana. He’s got a plan.”
“Don’t we all.” Jack came from a back room with a wad of cotton bandages. Montana took them, laid them on the table and then instructed Jack on how to wrap them around his ribs.
“Don’t do that down here, honey. You’re gonna let everyone know you’re busted up.”
“I hope they know it, Susie. And I hope they tell a friend.”
Susie shook her head. “I don’t understand you, Montana Smith.”
Montana started to roll the bandage around the front of his ribs, handing off to Jack, who wrapped it around the back and handed it back to Montana. The two repeated the process until the bandage was tight. Jess entered the saloon as Montana was tucking away the loose ends.
“Are you okay? You should -,”
“I’m fine, Jess. Really. Trust me. I’m fine.” Montana stared at her, gauging if she understood. He wasn’t hurt that bad. He just needed people to believe it and bet against him.
“I get it.” Her tone indicated she truly did get it. Her face, however, indicated that she didn’t like it. She didn’t like the games and deception. She didn’t like the risks.
“You’re not going to fool Sam. And you’re trusting him with your money.”
“Sam understands how this works. I’ll trust him until I gotta wrestle him. He doesn’t have any reason to do me wrong until then.”
“You don’t know what reasons he has, Montana. Sam works for my father and Sam has always been loyal.”
“Maybe. But your father don’t have any reason to interfere with me either. Not ‘till the finals. I’m making my own money until then. I ain’t takin’ his. Not yet.”
Jess sat down across from Montana. She folded her hands on the table. She looked beautiful and Montana resisted the urge to touch her only for moment. He placed his left hand on top of hers while his right arm sat on his chair back. He was facing the door.
“Where are you going when it’s over,” she asked.
Montana looked out the saloon door and into the street. The day was still bright, but it wouldn’t be long until the evening. He would have one more match before nightfall. Jack had taken a spot on the stairs behind them, waiting for further directions.
“Hey, Jack. Can you find out where I’m supposed to be next?”
Jacked jumped up, eager for the task. “Yessir.” He ran passed Susie at the bar who admonished him for his speed. “Thanks partner,” Montana said as Jack ran passed his table and out the swinging doors. Montana continued to stare out into the street.
“Not sure,” he finally answered. “I aim to go east. But maybe Chicago.”
“Do you have money for two?”
The question stopped Montana’s heart. He wasn’t sure what was happening between Jess and him. He felt rushed, but he also felt certain at the same time. He squeezed her hands and turned toward her.
“I aim for that as well.”
Jess smiled at him and then looked down. “He’s not going to just let me leave, Montana. He’ll have the train station covered. He’ll have men outside my home. He’ll have men outside your room.”
“How far do you think he’s willing to go? There ain’t a law to stop it.”
“He doesn’t need a law to stop it. All he needs is an opportunity. He’s going to try to take something. Your money, your pride, or your health.”
Montana thought for a moment and then smiled. “Well, I don’t have any pride. I think I can watch out for the other two.” He winked and she let out a small laugh.
“I have to go,” she said softly. She slid her hands out from underneath his and rose from her seat. Montana stood up as well. She walked around the table, put her hand to his cheek, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently. “See you tonight.”
She turned and left and Montana watched her walk out. He stood, staring and motionless.
“Hit by the lightning bolt?” laughed Susie. “You two are gonna be in a lot of trouble, hun. A whole mess.” She continued to laugh, shake her head, and clean glasses behind the bar.
Montana shook his head and sat down, putting his face in his hands and rubbing his eyes. “I know it, Susie. What am I gonna do? I don’t mind the fight, but I don’t want her to suffer for it.”
Susie stopped for a minute. She looked serious. “Talk to Sam, Montana.”
Montana started to protest the idea, but Susie stopped him. “Listen to me. Talk to Sam.”
//////
Montana put his shirt and boots back on and went out onto the saloon porch. The sun was still high and the sky blue. Only a few clouds flittered about and the seemingly constant cool breeze came in from the west. It was relaxing and Montana could feel his motivation for a second match wane. He moved about the porch, using the posts to stretch his arms and keep his ribs from stiffening. He looked to the north end of the street. Arkin’s match was over and the crowd was scattering. He had wanted to see Sam wrestle. He needed to get a sense of what he might be dealing with. He saw Jack jogging down the street, making quick turns left or right to avoid oncoming groups.
“Hey, Jack. What’dya find out?”
“You’ll be up there where Sam jus’ finished. Against some ol’ miner named Ricky Miles.”
Montana thought for a moment. The name sounded familiar. Then he remembered the man who gave him trouble while visiting Reid. Montana knew he wouldn’t have any problems, but also knew the betting odds would be close or split. He needed to really make a show of his ribs.
“Do you know who he wrestled this morning?” Montana asked.
“He had a bye. Sam jus’ won his. He had some problems. I ain’t certain why. Sam shoulda whooped that man real quick.”
“Who was it?”
Jack shrugged. “Some fella from back east. He was supposed to be some kinda college professor. Don’t sound like no wrestler to me.”
“Well, profession don’t account for skills, Jack. I know who you’re talkin’ about. Professor Smillidge. He was one of the best. He’s just old now.”
Jack shrugged, squatted down and began to skip pebbles across the street. He appeared unconvinced and Montana couldn’t blame him. Sam Arkin had made his way to the saloon. He stepped over the squatted Jack and nodded an acknowledgement to Montana.
“Meet me over at Isiah’s room after your match is over. I’ll have your winnings.”
Montana nodded and Sam walked up the steps by him and into the saloon. In between the swinging of doors, Montana watched Sam walk over to Susie and hold her hand. The doors stopped swinging and he couldn’t see anymore.
“Sam involved with Susie?” Montana asked Jack.
Jack looked up. “Yessir, somewhat I guess. They like each other. He comes by most ever’ day and Miss Susie fixes his coffee and breakfast.”
Montana wondered how Stockton felt about that- or if he knew. Certainly, he must know. He couldn’t imagine Sam abiding the breaking of Susie’s shot glasses or the blackening of women’s eyes. But nothing happened that Sam didn’t permit. Montana couldn’t figure out Sam Arkin. He just knew he was dangerous.
Montana didn’t have time to dwell on Sam. “C’mon Jack. Let’s walk the long way around town before we get to the ring. See what else is goin’ on.”
Jack jumped up. Montana grabbed his ribs and feigned a pained walk. They cut back through a small side street and up through Main. It was bustling with people and street vendors. A street dance was occurring near the platform of the opening ceremonies. The same brass band was playing. Jack looked behind him, toward the ring he wrestled at earlier. There was a group of men repairing the posts and ropes. With about a half hour before the next matches, the ring looked like it would be fixed by then.
Montana continued to limp. By now, people recognized him. Even those who did not had heard of Casteen breaking the ring. People greeted him and asked how he felt, but all could see his grimaced face and difficult limp.
“Feelin’ good, kid?”
“Heard about your ribs, Montana. Hope you’re alright.”
Montana limped on, nodding back, telling people he would be fine. All the while, making sure no one believed him. As he and Jack made turned east and headed back toward his next match, he caught Stockton at the bottom of the podium.
“Montana Smith! Ah, my boy. I heard about the excitement this morning.” Stockton walked toward Montana, a throng of people following behind. He stopped short and put on an air of concern.
“Mr. Smith, are you feeling well? I heard rumor of an injury during the match.”
Montana eyed him. He would’ve moved on, but there was now quite a crowd gathered around. Montana nodded.
“Yessir. It just won’t heal up after being jumped last night. Casteen carries a lot of power behind that weight.”
Stockton waved him off. “I heard those accusations of assault. I will look into it myself. No one should be in danger while they stay here in Livings. Especially not an innocent, forthright man such as yourself.”
A man in a bowler hat spoke up. “Say Henry, isn’t this the young lad who has taken up with Jess. I heard she found herself a handsome stranger!”
Montana took inward pleasure at the rankling of Stockton. Montana could see the question crawled all over him. However, neither man broke their public showing of mutual respect.
“Uh, yes. Indeed, the usually shy Jess has enjoyed the company of Mr. Smith while he is in town. Surely, she will be sad to see him go. Hopefully, the injury doesn’t hasten that event. The tournament will only become more difficult.”
“I appreciate the concern and the hospitality, sir. I wouldn’t pay those fellas who busted me up any mind. I don’t think they achieved their end.”
Stockton regarded Montana for a moment. His outward smile disguised cold eyes. “Who is your next match against, Mr. Smith?” he asked.
“Ricky Miles. Over there, up from the Red Bird,” Montana gestured painfully.
“Well, good luck to you sir. I hope to see you tonight during this evening’s festivities. Every saloon in town should have a singer and piano player. Including the Red Bird, surprisingly. Miss Susie is usually not one to participate in events for the good of the town.”
“Yessir. That’s where I’ll be,” Montana replied. Stockton nodded his head, tipped his hat and moved along down the street with the small gaggle of people behind him. He was putting over the success of the tournament and the various investment opportunities in the booming Livings. Montana couldn’t fault him there. The tournament was, by any measure, a tremendous success.
Jack had stayed close to Montana’s side during the exchange. He looked up at Montana. “I don’t think Mr. Stockton’s tellin’ the truth. Ever’body knows he don’t fancy suitors for Jess.” Montana laughed, remembered his ribs, and grabbed them.
“You don’t think he’ll make an exception for me, Jack?” he joked.
“Maybe if you win,” Jack replied.
“Maybe,” said Montana. But Montana knew that was the one circumstance Stockton would make no exception for. “Let’s get on over to the ring.”
The two cut over to Glanton Street where the ring was set up. There wasn’t much of a crowd gathered. The referee was checking the ropes and there was another young kid sweeping off the ring apron. Montana continued to limp by the few people who were there, holding his ribs and looking like he was already beaten.
Jack looked around and found a stool used in the previous match. He was determined to fulfil his duties as second this time around. Jack hopped up onto the ring and placed the stool in the corner. He walked over to the referee and asked where he could get a bucket and water. The referee looked at Jack and seemed ready to tell him to get lost, but caught Montana’s eye and thought better of it. “It’s over at the corral by the school.” Jack ran off to get the bucket.
Montana leaned against the ring. A group of well-dressed men walked up, smiling and obviously probing for information. “How are we feelin’ today, Mr. Smith?”
“Been better.”
“We heard about the attack. Surely someone must be jealous.”
“I guess. Don’t know what of. How are you gentlemen?”
The group nodded almost as one. “We’re fine,” answered the spokesman. “Are you familiar with Richard Miles, your opponent?”
Montana looked at each man. He wondered if they had heard of their brief scuffle at the Tulane. “No, I don’t believe so.”
The men looked at each other and seemed to communicate through a series of nods and gestures. “We have only learned a little. He’s a miner from somewhere in Texas. Supposedly killed a man- though we aren’t sure how.”
Montana didn’t flinch. “He ain’t the first.”
The men chuckled in unison. “Indeed, indeed. He won’t be the last either, unfortunately. Good luck to you, sir.”
Montana nodded as the group walked away. Montana heard the spokesman start up his same spiel and he looked toward the group. Richard Miles had made his way to the ring. He appeared confident until he saw Montana. He obviously never learned Montana’s name after the embarrassment at the hotel.
“Er, um, he’s a nobody. Now, if you’ll ‘scuse me a minute, I’m gonna get loosened up.” Miles never took his eyes off Montana. Montana, likewise, continued to watch Miles. While Montana didn’t feel this match would be any trouble, he decided to have a little fun. He stood up from the ring and winced, making an audible gasp as he grabbed his ribs and limped around. Watching Miles out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a smile creep across his lips. Montana had him fooled. Hopefully, the same trick worked on the group of betting men.
Jack returned with the bucket, swinging and bumping it with his knee every few steps. The bucket was only about half full now, with a trail of water along the street that extended all the way down to the corral. Jack put the bucket down in the same corner as the stool. He looked around and asked the same question Montana was thinking, “Where is everybody?”
“Not sure,” Montana replied.
“They’re all probably watchin’ the Turk. He broke a guy’s arm this mornin’. Supposedly a world champ fella from England.”
“That makes two,” Montana said. “How’d Isiah do?”
“He won. Made some people angry doin’ it, too. He beat some Kansas mayor’s kid. Marshal Hill had to get him out of the ring to keep people off ‘im. Sam was late to his own match helpin’ him out.”
Montana looked at Jack and smiled. “How’d you get all this information, kid? You ain’t hardly been out of my sight?”
Jack sort of blushed. “I know people, I guess. I jus’ listen.”
“That ain’t a bad thing to do. You learn more listenin’ than talkin’.”
“That’s what Sam says.”
Montana looked sideways at Jack just for a moment. He went back to watching Miles, who had turned his back to Montana. He was talking to a passersby, but no one seemed interested in the match. Miles wasn’t a very charismatic figure, but Montana really couldn’t fault him for failing to drum up interest. Promotion wasn’t Montana’s strong point, either.
The referee called down. “Alright men. Do you wanna get started? Not sure how busy it’s gonna get.”
Montana nodded and he motioned for Jack to help him up into the ring. Montana gripped the ropes slowly and cautiously climbed through them. Jack followed him and assisted in taking off his shirt and boots. Montana acted as if he couldn’t put on his leather wrestling boots and Jack assisted in lacing and tying.
Miles didn’t have a second. He removed his shirt and paced in the corner, smirking at Montana as he gingerly maneuvered around his corner. Montana scanned the crowd and saw the well-dressed inquirers from earlier off to a side. There was a scattering of others. Some looked as if they were only stopping by for a moment. There were a few drunks. Most of the other onlookers were townspeople who simply came out onto the front porches of their homes and businesses to watch. They didn’t want to leave their establishments empty, so they just watched what was in view.
Montana did notice three of Stockton’s miners leaning up against a small outbuilding. One of them took notice of Montana, flicked down his cigarette and stomped it out. He shifted against the clapboards and must’ve muttered something to the other two. All three then stood up and stared directly at Montana.
The referee called the men in and gave directions. No punches, chokes, gouging. Break when called. Submission and one second pin falls. Montana got it. The two backed away to their corners for a final moment and the referee called for the match to begin. Montana made sure to move slowly. He had thought of giving up the charade with so few present. However, Stockton’s spies would go back and expose his ruse.
Miles came forward after circling the ring a few times. He went for an arm lock-up and Montana obliged. With both men’s arms raised, Miles went in for a shoulder block right to Montana’s ribs. While it hurt, Montana continued his charade. He doubled over and backed off, keeping his eyes on Ricky Miles.
“Hurts, don’t it?” Miles asked, doing his best to appear menacing. Montana backed off again. Jack jumped up from the street onto the ring apron. Montana snapped at him to get down. Jacked slowly-and angrily- climbed down. Miles came in strong again and backed Montana up into a corner. As the referee attempted to separate them, Montana felt a stiff jab into his ribs. Miles just missed the mark, but Montana still came close to losing his breath.
Jack saw the cheap shot and again shot up. “Get ‘im, Montana. C’mon, he’s cheatin’, ref!”
Miles looked down at Jack. “Shut up kid, or you’re next!”
Montana didn’t need to keep up the ruse any longer. He risked truly aggravating an injury to increase the odds among a half dozen betters. He rushed forward and made a sudden quick jerk under Miles’s arms. Now behind, Montana placed his foot behind Miles’s and pulled back and away. Miles went to his stomach with Montana on top. Montana maintained control of Miles’s arm and jerked it violently up behind his head.
Miles let out a scream. “I told you before I could break it then or now,” Montana calmly reminded him.
“Enough,” Miles said. The referee didn’t expect such an easy submission and asked Miles to repeat himself. “Enough!”
Montana let go before breaking his arm. Miles rolled to his back, clutching his arm in his hand. Montana stood above him. “Am I gonna see you around that kid?”
Miles shook his head. “No, you ain’t. I’m done.”
“Fair enough,” said Montana. He walked over to his corner. Jack had already jumped into the ring. He took a tin cup and filled it with water and handed it to Montana. He looked over at Miles, who still had not made it to his feet.
“That was easy,” Jack laughed.
“It can always be easy. That’s the hard part.” Jack looked confused, but his excitement wasn’t dampened. He gathered up Montana’s shirts and boots and held open the ropes. Montana stepped through and Jack helped him down off the apron. When he got to his feet, he looked over to where the three miners had been watching. They were gone. As was the group of well-dressed gamblers.
Montana put on his shirt. He reached up and grabbed the stool placed it down on the ground and began to unlace his wrestling boots. Once he changed shoes, he and Jack began to walk down to the Red Bird. The street was fairly busy, but you could hear the excitement and music and activity on the other side of town. Montana told Jack to run over and see what he could find out. Jack ran off in a dead sprint.
Montana walked back down the Red Bird, which was slightly busier than it had been earlier. Most of the patrons seemed concentrated at three tables, each occupied with either a card game or a conversation. He walked through the doors and saw Susie and another young lady pouring drinks and serving food. Susie looked up.
“Win?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Montana said as went up the stairs to his room.
“Hurt?” she followed up.
“No ma’am.”
“Good. It’s ‘bout time.”
