had begun. The Missourian listened, his eyes straying from the flat to Fallonâs face from time to time.
âYou shape like a gamblinâ man,â he said at last, âbut you talk like a man whoâd made hay. Iâll look at it.â
The following day, Fallon went to the wash and worked the entire day, sunrise to sunset, on his dam. At the beginning, one would hardly have recognized it as a dam, for what he was doing was building a barrier that would catch other debris and pile it up. Nobody from the town came to see what he was doing, and none offered to help.
On the day that marked the end of the second week, four wagons stopped and business was brisk. One of the wagons pulled up at the Yankee Saloon. It was followed by another wagon driven by a burly Negro.
The driver of the first wagon came into the saloon, a stocky man with a shock of prematurely gray hair and the beginnings of a paunch. He had a smooth, rosy-cheeked face and keen blue eyes.
âBrennanâs the name,â he announced. âIâll have a whiskey.â
As Fallon poured the glass, Brennan added, âIâm a saloon man myself. Maybe I could offer some suggestions.â
âIâm sure you could,â Fallon replied dryly, âso let me offer one. Donât drink the whiskey.â
Brennan glanced at him, then tasted the drink. Carefully, as if fearful it might explode, he replaced the glass on the bar. âUnusual flavor,â he said politely. âI donât believe I recognize the brand.â
âIndian whiskey. My own version.â
âIf you donât mind, Iâll have a glass of water.â
He tasted the water, then put the glass down, smiling. âLimestone water, the purest there isâ¦just like from the hills of Bourbon County, Kentucky. My friendââhe gestured toward the waterââif you really want to make good whiskey, thereâs the first essentialâ¦good water.â
Fallon walked around the bar. âMr. Brennan, I donât want to make whiskey. I donât want to operate a saloon. Iâll supply the water and whatever equipment you need, and Iâll handle the gambling, if there is any. You operate the saloon and we split fifty-fiftyâ¦howâs that?â
Brennan tasted the water again. âSixty-forty,â he said. âI have operated saloons in New York, Richmond, Louisville, Abilene, Leadville, Corinne, and Silver Reef. I know my business.â
Fallon looked at him, then out across the flat. Brennan was perhaps thirty-five, and a man who appreciated the good things of life, if Fallon was any judge. Yet here he was, though the towns showed a steady progression westwardâ¦why?
âYouâve made a deal. Take over as of now. Tomorrow weâll scout the location for a still.â
âYou arenât going to ask any questions?â
âIf youâre the man who can handle the job, I want you. If you are not, out you go.â
âI killed a man,â Brennan said.
âIf the Bellows outfit decide to raid us,â Fallon said bluntly, âyou may have to kill several.â
âThis is my town,â Brennan said quietly, âand Iâm glad to be home.â
Brennan, among other things, had three barrels of whiskey in his second wagon. He also had a case of claret and approximately a hundred empty beer bottles. What else he carried was not immediately obvious. They divided the upstairs into two apartments and Brennan moved into one of them.
Slowly, business picked up. Several wagons came by, and once a whole wagon train drove in and camped the night on the upper flat. Fallon was always around, but each day he worked some upon the dam. Twice, Joshua Teel joined him, bringing his mules to help, and slowly the dam grew.
----
I T WAS MIDAFTERNOON, and Fallon was sitting at a table in the saloon drinking coffee when Al Damon came in. He walked to the bar and lifted a boot to the brass