The Whiskey Rebel

That was the bait, and it was quickly taken. Mueller was at once upon his feet. He strode four or five steps over to the two men and kicked dirt upon the younger one. “You have something to say to me, Richmond?”

Both men met his gaze, but it was Dalton who spoke. “Sit back down, Mueller. Maybe this time you can leave the frolic without a fight.”

“What if I don’t? I ain’t lost one yet.”

“You haven’t fought me yet, have you?” Dalton said, his Irish inflection exaggerated.

“Not yet, and maybe not tonight. ’Tis your good wife I heard laughing at me.” He flicked his hand contemptuously at Mr. Richmond.

Dalton took a step forward. “What say you?”

Mueller laughed. He raised his mug to drink, but it missed his mouth entirely and sloshed down his thick neck, soaking his hunting shirt. “I guess Miss Richmond’s afraid to fight. The Irisher, I don’t doubt, is the man of the house. I reckon every morning-”

This was as far as the speech progressed, for Dalton, who’d had in his mouth a thick wad of tobacco, spat it into Mueller’s face. Remarkably, he missed the beard near entire, and the shot landed true in the ruffian’s eye.

I watched in stu

Mueller stood still, his face red in the light of the fire, the wet of Dalton ’s tobacco shimmering on his forehead. The crowd stepped forward. One mass of hands pulled at Mueller, the other Mr. Dalton. In my i

Andrew was soon at my right side, Mr. Skye remaining at the other. One of Mr. Dalton’s men, the u

“What’s it to be, boys?” he called.

Dalton did not hesitate. “Eyes.”

Something dark, very much like fear, crossed Mueller’s face, still slick from the tobacco. He might have resented the insult, but apparently did not mind the substance enough to wipe it away. Now he squinted narrowly and gritted his teeth. “Aye,” he said. “Eyes.”

This all sounded confusing to me, which Mr. Skye observed. “Surely you’ve wondered why so many men here are missing an eye,” he said. “’Tis a common challenge. They fight until one man takes the other’s.”

“But that’s monstrous!” I had been pleased that Dalton had been so willing to fight Mueller, but I had not wanted this. If Mr. Dalton were to lose an eye, I would be responsible.

“’Tis the West. But fear not. Dalton ’s never yet lost, as you can see from his face. And he’s been yearning for an excuse to shut Mueller’s mouth for two years now.”

“It appears that Mr. Mueller has clearly never lost this challenge either,” said Andrew.

“He don’t often take it. He can’t afford to lose an eye in his trade, which you’ll no doubt understand. And, at the risk of revealing a partiality, he’s never fought Dalton before, and Dalton, you might have observed, is angry. He don’t take too kind to remarks about Richmond.”

I looked over at Jericho Richmond, who stood on the sidelines, arms folded, watching without agitation. Indeed, there was a little smirk upon his lips, satisfied and a bit impatient, as though the outcome of the contest was already decided.

The two men were released. Dalton at once leaped into the air like a panther and landed hard upon Mueller. The two crashed upon the ground, and I heard something crack, though I could not say if it was twig or bone. The crowd of Westerners grunted their approval. A few men cheered, and one little boy laughed like a shrill madman, but none moved closer. The circle remained still and solid, as if this were some sacred place of Druid worship.

Dalton now lay upon Mueller, his knee pressed across the carpenter’s chest, his thick left arm keeping Mueller’s own arms pi

He raised up his right hand, his thumb stuck out like a man begi

Mr. Skye tsked like an irritated upper servant. “You can’t call the man inefficient.” He looked at Andrew. “ Dalton ’s a good friend to have.”

Andrew nodded, too numb from horror and surprise to say much. “It’s well he seems to like me,” he managed, though he spoke hardly louder than a whisper.

“He likes you both,” said Mr. Skye, “and he don’t take to strangers that often.” He glanced back at Mueller’s pathetic form. “I guess that’s the lesson, though. You can’t be friends with everyone, not out here. You make your friends, but you make your enemies as well.”

Ethan Saunders

Having given Hamilton enough time to work whatever magic he intended to work, I returned to my rooms at Mrs. Deisher’s house that afternoon, where I found that stout German lady ready and willing to receive me. Once her girl opened the door, the landlady herself forced her massive bosoms past the servant and thrust them toward me.

“Mr. Saunders,” she said, “I your pardon beg. I mean to say Captain Saunders. I trouble myself for the misunderstanding, but the man from the government has everything made clear. Are you hungry? May I make for you something to eat?”

“Be easy on the matter of food,” I said. “I am, however, much in need of a wash and a change of clothes, not having had access to fresh linens in well over a day.”

She colored. “I must beg again your pardon, Captain. Now I shall send my Charlotte to bring for you the waters.”

I smiled benevolently at her, for now we were good friends. All was easy between us, and we had nothing but love in our hearts. “Oh, and one more thing, Mrs. Deisher. Before I send you away, please be so good as to mention why, precisely, you chose that night to cast me out.”

She cringed a bit at this. “It was just a notion, a terrible foolish notion. You must forgive.”

I continued to smile, but my voice was icy. “I shall forgive you when you tell me the truth.”

“Oh, I would never lie,” she said, to her shoes.

“Madam, you have seen how friendly I am with the government. If you do not tell me what I ask, I shall have you arrested for a foreign spy-let’s say French, since the notion of a German spy is absurd-and you will be cast out of the country forever. Perhaps, as reward, I shall be given your property for my own. Leonidas! Take a letter for me. Dear Secretary Hamilton: It is with grave concern that I must report to you the presence-”