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Authors: Margaret Brownley
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saw as much as a single Indian, though she imagined them everywhere. She did pass an enormous herd of buffalo peacefully grazing on a sparkling green sea of soft, bending grass. She wondered if it was the same herd that had stampeded the night before.
At one point she caught a glimpse of a distant train heading in the same direction. Had it been only twenty-four hours since she'd arrived in this desolate land?
It grew hotter with each passing hours. Around noon, she stopped the wagon once again and poured a small portion of water from the canteen onto a clean handkerchief to mop her face and neck.
Feeling slightly refreshed, she nibbled on a piece of dry meat, more to break the monotony of the trip than to satisfy any hunger. The meat was tasty and surprisingly tender. She ate all but a small piece, which she tucked away to eat later.
By the time she reached the bustling town of Hays, she felt as limp as an old rag. It had taken her five hours.
Flimsy wood buildings lined both sides of Old North Main Street. Wagons of every size and description filled the wide dirt road and loudmouthed merchants, vying for customers, hawked their colorful wares. Farmers dressed in canvas overalls could be seen lifting bales of buffalo hides and sacks of dry corn from the wagons onto the platform of the train depot. The waiting train divided the main street in half and held up traffic.
One drummer with a brightly painted wagon took advantage of the ready-made audience that the stalled train provided and shamelessly touted the virtues of Marshall's snake oil.
Curious, Maddie stopped her wagon to watch. The drummer lifted his stovepipe hat to her. "Here's a lady that looks a perfect picture of health." He spoke loud enough for all to hear. "Tell me, Miss, do you by chance owe your good health to Marshall's snake oil?"
Maddie gave the man a dazzling smile. "Of course," she called back. "What do you think made my hair this color?"
Appreciative laughter exploded from the crowd. Maggie swung her wagon around, leaving the drummer to glare after her.
She brought her wagon to a halt in front of the Perty Hotel, which overshadowed a peanut stand and Cy Godard's Saloon and Dance Hall. Inside, the sleepy-eyed clerk stuck his pen into the inkwell and gave her a nod. Overhead, the wooden blades of a fan turned lazily in the hot, oppressive air.
"I would like a room for one night," Maddie explained.
"Sorry, Miss." He had such a slow drawl that even the fan seemed fast in comparison. "There ain't no rooms avail'ble. A recent prairie fire burned down the entire town of Colton. Haven't seen this many people since I left San Anton'o."
"But surely there must be a room somewhere? If you could recommend a place I could stay and find refreshment, I should be most obliged."
"The r'freshment part is no problem. Hays, here, has seventy-five places where a person can quench a thirst. Name your pois'n. Everything from twenty-five-cent whisky to five-dollar-a-bottle Madam Cliquat is at your beck and call. The room? Well, now that might be a probl'm. Yessiree, a probl'm." The clerk thought for a moment. "My advice is to check with Widow Gray. She owns the white house on the next street. Take a right at Hound Kelly's Saloon. I heard tell she was rentin' out rooms to stranded trav'lers. A mighty charit'ble woman, that one."
Maddie thanked him and followed the man's directions to Chestnut Street. The clapboard house was, in her estimation, more brown than white, but the lace in the windows looked warm and inviting.
A matronly woman looked up from the garden as Maddie pulled her wagon in front of the weathered picket fence.
Climbing down from the wagon, Maddie walked up to the gate. "Are you Mrs. Gray?"
The woman straightened. "Indeed, I am. And who might you be?" She spoke with a thick English accent.
"My name is Maddie Percy. I'm looking for a place to stay. I was told I might find a room here." Though the rosebushes were scraggly and dry, the colorful
At one point she caught a glimpse of a distant train heading in the same direction. Had it been only twenty-four hours since she'd arrived in this desolate land?
It grew hotter with each passing hours. Around noon, she stopped the wagon once again and poured a small portion of water from the canteen onto a clean handkerchief to mop her face and neck.
Feeling slightly refreshed, she nibbled on a piece of dry meat, more to break the monotony of the trip than to satisfy any hunger. The meat was tasty and surprisingly tender. She ate all but a small piece, which she tucked away to eat later.
By the time she reached the bustling town of Hays, she felt as limp as an old rag. It had taken her five hours.
Flimsy wood buildings lined both sides of Old North Main Street. Wagons of every size and description filled the wide dirt road and loudmouthed merchants, vying for customers, hawked their colorful wares. Farmers dressed in canvas overalls could be seen lifting bales of buffalo hides and sacks of dry corn from the wagons onto the platform of the train depot. The waiting train divided the main street in half and held up traffic.
One drummer with a brightly painted wagon took advantage of the ready-made audience that the stalled train provided and shamelessly touted the virtues of Marshall's snake oil.
Curious, Maddie stopped her wagon to watch. The drummer lifted his stovepipe hat to her. "Here's a lady that looks a perfect picture of health." He spoke loud enough for all to hear. "Tell me, Miss, do you by chance owe your good health to Marshall's snake oil?"
Maddie gave the man a dazzling smile. "Of course," she called back. "What do you think made my hair this color?"
Appreciative laughter exploded from the crowd. Maggie swung her wagon around, leaving the drummer to glare after her.
She brought her wagon to a halt in front of the Perty Hotel, which overshadowed a peanut stand and Cy Godard's Saloon and Dance Hall. Inside, the sleepy-eyed clerk stuck his pen into the inkwell and gave her a nod. Overhead, the wooden blades of a fan turned lazily in the hot, oppressive air.
"I would like a room for one night," Maddie explained.
"Sorry, Miss." He had such a slow drawl that even the fan seemed fast in comparison. "There ain't no rooms avail'ble. A recent prairie fire burned down the entire town of Colton. Haven't seen this many people since I left San Anton'o."
"But surely there must be a room somewhere? If you could recommend a place I could stay and find refreshment, I should be most obliged."
"The r'freshment part is no problem. Hays, here, has seventy-five places where a person can quench a thirst. Name your pois'n. Everything from twenty-five-cent whisky to five-dollar-a-bottle Madam Cliquat is at your beck and call. The room? Well, now that might be a probl'm. Yessiree, a probl'm." The clerk thought for a moment. "My advice is to check with Widow Gray. She owns the white house on the next street. Take a right at Hound Kelly's Saloon. I heard tell she was rentin' out rooms to stranded trav'lers. A mighty charit'ble woman, that one."
Maddie thanked him and followed the man's directions to Chestnut Street. The clapboard house was, in her estimation, more brown than white, but the lace in the windows looked warm and inviting.
A matronly woman looked up from the garden as Maddie pulled her wagon in front of the weathered picket fence.
Climbing down from the wagon, Maddie walked up to the gate. "Are you Mrs. Gray?"
The woman straightened. "Indeed, I am. And who might you be?" She spoke with a thick English accent.
"My name is Maddie Percy. I'm looking for a place to stay. I was told I might find a room here." Though the rosebushes were scraggly and dry, the colorful
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