Sweet Thunder by Ivan Doig Read Free Book Online

returned her murmur. “Would I do that?”
    Plainly, though, the vacant premises of the newspaper-to-be was on the rocks drastically enough to have been long abandoned. The building, down a backstreet in the part of town winkingly known as Venus Alley and next to a Chinese noodle shop, once had been a secretarial school, which accounted for the array of rickety desks and typing stands and abandoned typewriters in the gloomy space. Walls were peeling, light fixtures hung askew, and a musty feel prevailed as though fresh air was a foreign commodity. None of which appeared to faze Jared in the least, marching from window to window, flipping up flyspecked green blinds. Over his shoulder he called, “What do you think of the enterprise so far, Professor?”
    Rab’s shoe pressed a warning on the toe of mine. “It, mmm, has possibilities.”
    Dusting his hands, he marched past us. “This is nothing, come see what’s in the back room.”
    Dutifully Rab and I filed after him into an even bigger and grubbier space, evidently a warehouse butted up against the front structure. It too needed heroic cleaning, but in the middle of the floor sat something new and huge, its every part gleaming like rarest metal.
    Even I was at a loss for words for a moment. Reverently I approached the printing press. “Jared, if this wasn’t born in a manger, where did it come from?”
    He winked at Rab and grinned at me. “We’re not the only ones who want to find some way to take on Anaconda. Farmers and ranchers are sick of the copper collar, too.” He lowered his voice, even though it was only we three in the cavernous room. “There’s a pair of rich cattlemen, brothers, up north. One of them was going into politics, war hero and all,” his tone never betraying the fit of that description on himself, “until he ran into skirt trouble, the rumor is. Anaconda is usually behind any funny stuff like that, so he has it in for the copper bosses, and that loosened up his check-writing hand,” he finished with a benign smile at the state-of-the-art printing press.
    Rab spoke up. “It’s the Williamsons, isn’t it. The Double W ranch and all the rest.” She could see I needed enlightening. “They own everything they can get their hands on,” she could not help sounding like the homestead-bred girl she had been in Marias Coulee. Old antagonisms die hard.
    â€œWe need all the allies we can get,” Jared said with soldierly simplicity.
    Rab nibbled her lip. “I suppose.”
    I was with Jared, in this instance. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. “I’d say equipment like this forgives the Williamson gent some sins.” I couldn’t resist running a hand over the press, in awe of the complex of machinery that turned lead impressions and ink into news articles and headlines spun onto a continuous web of newsprint and at the end of the process, into beautifully folded newspapers. “What an astounding era of communication we live in,” I mused. “Gutenberg would be proud.”
    Voices were heard out front. Jared gathered Rab by the waist and clapped a hand to my shoulder. “Come meet the staff.”
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    Milling around among the desks and typing stands were a couple of dozen individuals. I stress that last word, for even at first look this group comprised an odd lot. Old, young, predominantly male but including a few women with a Nellie Bly keenness to them, they looked so disparate as a staff that only an inclusive undertaking such as a newspaper could hold them. I marveled at how such a collection of timeworn refugees from journalistic outposts and eager neophytes had been assembled; I was quite sure I recognized a young couple from meetings of the erstwhile Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s Literary and Social Circle in the basement of the public library. One figure in this