Port Hazard Read Online Free

for whom the enchantment of “O, Susanna” sounded as if it had begun to wear thin. The first team, including Grant and the railroad brass and Washington’s best speechmakers, had been aboard the first train, and by the time it came to stock this one, all that was left were the wardheelers and second cousins; people not considered important enough to ride up front but too dangerous to leave behind. I swung aboard a day coach against the stream of alighting passengers, found a seat near the back, and let down the window to thin out the atmosphere of twice-smoked cigars and Old Gideon.
    In due course, the electioneering blathered to a finish, reinforcements were brought aboard in the form of crates of champagne and the odd giggling girl in bright satin. The train lurched ahead, pulling away from the tinny strains of “Garryowen,” and buried the end of Custer’s dirge under the razz of its whistle. An old campaigner in a sour-smelling suit with tobacco juice in his beard went to sleep with his head on my shoulder. I wasn’t sure whether he was too important to shoot, and by the time we rolled into Butte, my left arm was numb. We overnighted there, for no good reason except to let the excursionists nurse their headaches and to sample some more of the local fauna. All the hotel rooms were taken, so I got back on board and gave a porter a dollar to make up a berth and wake me an hour before the train was scheduled to embark. He did that, and for another dollar brought me biscuits and gravy from the Silver Bow Club, leaving the tray outside the water closet as I was shaving. I asked him if he knew Beecher and where I might find him in Gold Creek.
    He frowned. He was a handsome lad of eighteen or so, with aristocratic features and skin as black as a stove. “I can’t say as I’ve heard the name, sir, but a lot of the coloreds keep theirselves at Danny Moon’s Emporium on the Benetsee.”
    â€œDo they serve white men?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know, sir. I keep temperance myself.”
    â€œHow long before the yahoos start boarding?”
    He looked at his watch. The entire transcontinental system would fly to pieces without its pocket winders. “Fifteen minutes, if we’re leaving on time. We’re sure to hear from Mr. Hill if we don’t.”
    I gave him another dollar. “Would an abstemious gentleman such as yourself object to learning whether there’s a quart of good whiskey left in town and bringing it to me?”
    He took off his cap, poked the coin under the sweatband next to the others, and put the cap back on. “Mr. Drummond at the Silver Bow Club keeps some Hermitage in stock for patrons of good character.”
    I sighed and wiped off the last of the shaving soap. “What do you charge for a reference?”
    The porter stiffened. The cap came off and he fished the silver dollars out of the band and held them out. “I ain’t a grafter. You’ll find plenty of them in town.”
    â€œSorry, friend. Most people I meet, when they find out I work for Washington, start thinking they can get a little of their own back. It destroys your faith in good fellowship. I’ll get the bottle myself.”
    After a moment he returned the coins to his cap and his cap to his head. “I’ll get it, sir. These bankers and politicians will try your patience. One of them slapped me when I wouldn’t fetch him a woman.”
    â€œDid you slap him back?”
    â€œMr. Hill wouldn’t approve of that. The gentleman wouldn’t approve of what he ate for supper that night, either.” He touched his cap and went off on his quest.
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    Gold Creek was in a fever. It had never lived up to its name, the nuggets coughed up by Benetsee Creek never having compared to the strikes in Bannack, Alder Gulch, and Last Chance, and for twenty years had stood only on the loose foundation of the hopes of those residents who had gambled