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Authors: Ruth Ryan Langan
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"There’s so many rumors, take your pick. I heard he won that saloon by plunking down a thousand dollars and betting he could turn up snake eyes on one toss of the dice."
"And did he?"
The older woman shook her head. "Beats me. All I know is after just one day in Skagway, he owned the place."
"What are the other rumors?"
"Some say he greases his hair with snake oil. It sure is shiny." Her eyes glittered. "And of course, some say he’s called Snake because he’s the slipperiest man in Alaska. All I know is, he’s the most charming rascal this town’s ever seen." Her voice lowered. "But don’t let that charm fool you. I’ve heard he rules his girls with an iron hand. And if anybody starts a gunfight in Rawlins’ Saloon, Snake finishes it. He’s mean. No doubt about it." She looked sharply at September. "Why’d you ask?"
September shrugged. "I did some mending for his girls. One of them mentioned Snake." She picked up a pot and headed for the stove. "It’s an odd name."
As she hurried about her morning chores, Aggie watched her closely, hoping to find something to complain about. Secretly she admitted to herself that September Malloy was just about the best bargain she’d ever stumbled onto. But the girl was too ambitious to stay in debt to her for long.
* * *
When September arrived at the grub tent that day with the miner’s clothes neatly sewn, there were six other miners waiting with shirts and pants that needed mending. Doing some quick mental calculating, she realized that she could easily earn enough to pay for a room at Aggie’s and give up the tedious chores which ate up so much of her precious time. With the morning chores out of the way, she could do twice as much sewing and earn even more.
The pies were a huge success. As Aggie had predicted, some miners were willing to do without stew just so they could afford the luxury of a slice of blueberry pie. For most, it had been months since they’d tasted anything that reminded them so much of the home they’d left behind.
Gathering up the empty pots and tins, September pushed the cart along the dusty trail. In the gathering darkness, she fretted over the decision she would have to make. It would cost her seven dollars a week to rent a room at Aggie’s. Seven precious dollars. But she needed a room of her own and more time each day if she wanted to keep up with the demand for her sewing talents. Deep in thought, she paused at Rawlins’ Saloon to drop off the purple dress she had mended.
Snake Rawlins was standing near the bar, keeping one eye on the faro game in the corner. He glanced up idly as the girl entered the bar. With one glance he could tell she’d never been in a saloon before. Her head swiveled left and right as she looked over the men playing poker. Her head came up sharply at a burst of raucous laughter from the faro table. Nervously moving through the crowds, she headed for the back room.
Leaning his back to the bar, Snake allowed his gaze to trail slowly over her. The black wool dress covered more than it revealed. But he could make out high, firm breasts and a waist small enough for a man’s hands to span. As she walked, her hips swayed in an almost rhythmic movement. That walk could drive a man crazy.
On an impulse, he jammed a cigar in his mouth and followed her.
The brassy-haired woman was wearing nothing but a corset and a flimsy flowered wrap. She stood with one foot on a chair, straightening a lacy stocking. At September’s knock, she called out, "Come on in."
September paused in the doorway, embarrassed to have caught a stranger in the act of dressing.
"I’ll wait out here," she said, backing away.
"Hell, kid. Come on in. I see you brought the dress."
As September closed the door, Snake stopped it with his foot before it closed completely. With her back to him, September was unaware of his presence.
The woman looked over the dress carefully, testing each seam. Satisfied, she hung it on a rack and
"And did he?"
The older woman shook her head. "Beats me. All I know is after just one day in Skagway, he owned the place."
"What are the other rumors?"
"Some say he greases his hair with snake oil. It sure is shiny." Her eyes glittered. "And of course, some say he’s called Snake because he’s the slipperiest man in Alaska. All I know is, he’s the most charming rascal this town’s ever seen." Her voice lowered. "But don’t let that charm fool you. I’ve heard he rules his girls with an iron hand. And if anybody starts a gunfight in Rawlins’ Saloon, Snake finishes it. He’s mean. No doubt about it." She looked sharply at September. "Why’d you ask?"
September shrugged. "I did some mending for his girls. One of them mentioned Snake." She picked up a pot and headed for the stove. "It’s an odd name."
As she hurried about her morning chores, Aggie watched her closely, hoping to find something to complain about. Secretly she admitted to herself that September Malloy was just about the best bargain she’d ever stumbled onto. But the girl was too ambitious to stay in debt to her for long.
* * *
When September arrived at the grub tent that day with the miner’s clothes neatly sewn, there were six other miners waiting with shirts and pants that needed mending. Doing some quick mental calculating, she realized that she could easily earn enough to pay for a room at Aggie’s and give up the tedious chores which ate up so much of her precious time. With the morning chores out of the way, she could do twice as much sewing and earn even more.
The pies were a huge success. As Aggie had predicted, some miners were willing to do without stew just so they could afford the luxury of a slice of blueberry pie. For most, it had been months since they’d tasted anything that reminded them so much of the home they’d left behind.
Gathering up the empty pots and tins, September pushed the cart along the dusty trail. In the gathering darkness, she fretted over the decision she would have to make. It would cost her seven dollars a week to rent a room at Aggie’s. Seven precious dollars. But she needed a room of her own and more time each day if she wanted to keep up with the demand for her sewing talents. Deep in thought, she paused at Rawlins’ Saloon to drop off the purple dress she had mended.
Snake Rawlins was standing near the bar, keeping one eye on the faro game in the corner. He glanced up idly as the girl entered the bar. With one glance he could tell she’d never been in a saloon before. Her head swiveled left and right as she looked over the men playing poker. Her head came up sharply at a burst of raucous laughter from the faro table. Nervously moving through the crowds, she headed for the back room.
Leaning his back to the bar, Snake allowed his gaze to trail slowly over her. The black wool dress covered more than it revealed. But he could make out high, firm breasts and a waist small enough for a man’s hands to span. As she walked, her hips swayed in an almost rhythmic movement. That walk could drive a man crazy.
On an impulse, he jammed a cigar in his mouth and followed her.
The brassy-haired woman was wearing nothing but a corset and a flimsy flowered wrap. She stood with one foot on a chair, straightening a lacy stocking. At September’s knock, she called out, "Come on in."
September paused in the doorway, embarrassed to have caught a stranger in the act of dressing.
"I’ll wait out here," she said, backing away.
"Hell, kid. Come on in. I see you brought the dress."
As September closed the door, Snake stopped it with his foot before it closed completely. With her back to him, September was unaware of his presence.
The woman looked over the dress carefully, testing each seam. Satisfied, she hung it on a rack and
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