Hugh Fontaine

Hugh’s eyelids seemed weighted with anvils, burning when he forced them to reopen. He shook his head. He’d been up all night but still he’d had to retrieve Willie to help him with his order from the train before it left town. Then, he might come home and sleep half the day.

Talk around his saloon had been disturbing the night before, and he had to try to help. Another woman had gone missing. He couldn’t remember the number that made—three or four for sure. Something had to be done. That’s what all the men said as they sat nursing their drinks.

He was the first to admit this was a town full of bachelors with little regard for personal grooming, table manners, and wholesome ideals. Everywhere he went, the language was foul and the men’s odor was fouler, but a string of unsolved crimes against women seemed lower than a rattler’s belly to him.

He wasn’t alone in that conclusion. When a small posse had gathered last night and set out to investigate, Hugh joined them, looking for who-knew-what—anything suspicious. He’d traveled the road westward toward Lake City, then back again. As far as Hugh knew, there were no leads discovered by any of the men.

It left deepening doubts about building his future in this town. He scrubbed his hand over his face. Those sparks of doubt snapped like lightning when he thought that Julianne planned to make her home here as well.

The sun had been over the mountain ridge for a good hour or more as he rattled his way to the southern edge of town. He dropped his next order off with Arthur Jameson at the telegraph office, and then picked up his current order at the train station.

Dynamite wasn’t the only kind of explosion that rocked Creede, Colorado. Paydays often detonated skirmishes around the town’s saloons for days.

After retrieving his order, Hugh drove up the main street with his buckboard full of kegs and boxes. Willie sat in the back, stabilizing the load. In front of Mr. Anders’ place the Nugget Saloon, he slowed his team and watched a brawl boiling out into the street. Something unusual was going on here for a fistfight to break out at this time of the day, and even the size of this one was unprecedented.

It might be a good idea to park a ways away until this nonsense plays out.

Something brought this large group together with disastrous results. Truly, it was a little comical seeing the men blow off steam from the long days and weeks of toiling in the mines. Hugh chuckled when two men picked up another and dumped him in the horse trough. Water whooshed over the sides, turning the dusty street into a muddy puddle.

He felt a twinge of shame that the way he made his living brought out the worst in men—both gambling and alcohol. They were especially volatile when taken together.

A man jumped down from the boardwalk and stood near Hugh’s wagon, ducking and bobbing while watching the sport. Hugh acknowledged his presence with a nod when the man looked in his direction.

“We got ourselves quite the tussle goin’ on. If I were younger, I might jump in myself.” He laughed heartily. After a moment, the man called out to Hugh, “They’s two purdy temp’rance ladies that got this all mixed up. Whoo-hoo. What a brawl.”

At that moment, Hugh was fully awake. He stood on the footboards of his wagon and saw a bright yellow dress between the shuffling bodies pushed to and fro near the doorway. His gut clenched. He wanted to deny what he suspected.

Surely Julianne has more sense than to go anywhere near that saloon.

He clearly saw a woman he knew—Millie—next to the one with the bright blue hat—Julianne.

Hugh’s body flashed cold as a lizard in an ice storm until scalding fear for Julianne threw him into action. “Take these,” he called to Willie, tossing the reins over his shoulder, and bolting across the narrow street, throwing himself into the fray. He began some hard-fisted tunneling toward where the women stood.

One particularly large man swung his fist at Hugh, who ducked, leaving another man behind him to catch the blow. Two more fists swung his way. He blocked one with his forearm and the other with his chin, unfortunately. His head snapped far to the left as he swayed on his feet, tasting blood in his mouth. He righted himself to get his bearings on where to go.

The crowd pushed and grappled and churned, giving Hugh glimpses of the women beneath a window. He had a ways to go to reach Julianne—he sucked in a deep breath and tucked his chin. The pathway in front of Hugh had closed, but he pushed forward, giving back exactly what he was taking as he battled through the swarming men.

Hugh finally reached the top of the wooden steps leading up to the saloon’s swinging doors and looked for Julianne. She and Millie huddled together a few feet away. Almost there. From his side, a fist slammed into Hugh’s cheek, rocking him backward and down the two steps. He landed between the hitching bar and the boardwalk, his cheek grinding across the gravel.

Flashes of light narrowed his vision, and he shook his head to clear it. He reached deep within himself and willed his body to find the strength to get up. He pushed to his hands and knees while blood pounded in his ears and his breath gasped in and out.