A quick clove hitch secured Boots at the rail alongside Barranca in front of Henry’s. Scott scanned the saloon’s large window for a familiar silhouette and came up empty. Johnny was, no doubt, sitting at a corner table admiring a lovely lady holding a bottle of tequila as she stood in front of the new mirror behind the bar.
Talking to his younger brother would need to wait. What had caught Scott’s attention when riding into town was the murmuring cluster of Green River citizens located across the street. Most families should be sitting down for their evening meal as the sun said its goodbye until morning. However, curiosity was currently outweighing hunger pains with several of the town’s residents. The small gathering’s eating habits weren't a concern of Scott’s. It's where they stood that had him worried.
Recently, newspapers had adopted the practice of displaying one or two pages from their latest edition outside the offices. The stories offered for free examination were chosen to stir a person’s desire to know more and convince the reader two bits was a small price to pay for that knowledge. Editors soon learned selecting the right bait for the hook increased newspaper sales by leaps and bounds. Green River’s editor was no different. And it certainly didn't take a Harvard professor to figure out what page Will Jenkins had chosen to conveniently hang outside the establishment of the Green River Gazette and Mayor’s Office.
Scott’s erect military posture and determined stride carried him to the back of the inquisitive group where overlapping conversations flowed freely.
“Isn’t he one of Murdoch Lancer’s sons? You know. The taller one with the -”
“ - accent. I believe she’s from Australia.”
“- thought it was Boston. The son. Not the girl who I hear is -”
“- lovely this time of year in Omaha. Didn’t you mention the weather and how well -”
“- he photographs. I don’t know Mrs. Lancer. She appears to be -”
“- fuzzy. Jenkins needs to invest in a new printing press if he expects a quality -”
“- derrière. I believe it’s French for -”
“Buttocks.” Scott decided the time had come to disperse the crowd. “Translated in
18th century old French - behind - or in Latin - dē retrō.” A smile was bestowed upon the two older women directly in front of him as they turned. “However, I prefer simply - buttocks.”
Awkward recognition of the young man who spoke Latin set off imaginary dinner bells throughout the querying townspeople. Like whittling down a stick on a hot summer day, the group slowly reduced in size to a single man leaning against the porch post which displayed the latest Green River Gazette news.
“Good evening, Val.”
“Scott.” Sheriff Crawford retrieved a matchstick from the endless supply residing in his shirt pocket. “Don’t usually see you in town this time of day.” The matchstick claimed its customary position in the corner of Val’s mouth.
“That is a fact.” Scott took a few steps forward. “Although, my visit shouldn't be a surprise...considering the circumstances.”
The matchstick wiggled with Val’s slight grin. “That is a fact.” A nod gestured toward the building across the street. “Your brother’s at Henry’s.”
Scott looked over his shoulder. “Good to know.” Turning back, he placed his boot on the porch’s first step and gestured toward the office. “I thought I’d stop by the Gazette before joining Johnny. Say hello to the editor.”
“Uh-huh.” Val straightened and repositioned his stance to the other side of the post and closer to the door. “Not too concerned with your hello. It’s the words you plan to use afterward that might be a bit troubling.”
With a reassuring smile, Scott mounted the steps to stand next to the sheriff of Green River. “I can understand your apprehension. I only want to clear up the confusion inflicting -”
“Inflicting.” Val moved the matchstick to the opposite corner of his mouth. “Now there might be a worrisome word.”
“You can’t deny Jenkins is a pain -”
“Pain. Another word that could give us some trouble here, Scott.”
Placing his hands on hips, Scott took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Val, you know as well as I do, Kinsey -”
“Kinsey.” The matchstick quivered. “Son, I do appreciate you keeping that little lady out of my line of sight this evening.”
Scott reached in front of Crawford and ripped down Gossip from Around the Globe featuring Mr. and Mrs. Lancer. “Jenkins knew damn well the reaction printing this photograph would create. Now, I’m going in there and calmly have a discussion to clear up this mess.”
Removing the matchstick from the mouth allowed it to become the sheriff’s pointer. “The paper you just defaced is the property of the town and as a law officer, I can't abide by that. However, since you used a word I approve of - that word being calmly - I'm choosing to look the other way.” The matchstick jabbed in the direction of the saloon. “I noticed two of Johnny’s compadres wandering in over there - each with a Green River Gazette tucked under his arm. So, I'm going to Henry’s and see to it the owner gets enjoyment out of his new mirror for more than a day.” The matchstick took a turn to point out the office of the Green River Gazette. “Now, if I have to walk back across the street to settle any kind of ruckus at this place of business...well, Scott, I don't think I need to tell you I'm going to be mighty perturbed.”
“No, sir. Your feelings on the current situation have been made quite clear.”
“Uh-huh.” Sheriff Crawford stepped down from the porch and paused without turning around. “I won’t deny it. Jenkins is a pain in the arse.”
“Lancer!” Upon entering, Scott was greeted with Will Jenkins’ arrogant, confident tone reflecting the man’s assumption that everyone was glad to see him. “I thought I heard your voice outside. Didn’t bring the little miss to town tonight? Oh, I bet she’s home darning your socks.”
“Hello, Will.” Scott’s smirk partially masked his annoyance. “I insisted Kinsey not join me. I noticed you’re finally able to walk without a limp. I’d hate to see you suffer a setback.” Watching Jenkins’ wide grin falter was satisfying indeed.
“Look here, Lancer. I was about to close up shop for the day…”
Scott stepped back as if to leave. Instead, his hand flipped over the Gazette’s sign hanging in the door’s window to read closed, carefully drew the shade and turned the lock. “Consider it done.”
With outstretched arms and a Pecksniffian smile, Will sat down behind his desk. “It appears I now have a few minutes to offer an old friend. What can I do for you? Wait! Don't tell me.” Jenkins held his hand to his forehead as if trying to read Scott’s mind.
“Permit me to jar your memory.” Not perturbing Val this evening was proving to be a challenge. “Kicking up their heels in Omaha.”
Will’s eyes twinkled. “You liked that? I thought it had a nice ring to it.”
“You’re a literary genius, Jenkins.” Scott’s tightened jaw muscles began to ache. “I'm envious of your firm grasp of the King's English.” Green River’s recently removed public property landed in front of the editor.
“Come on, Scott. How could I resist when you and the lovely Kinsey came waltzing across my desk?” Will picked up the paper and squinted at the photograph. “I am disappointed in the end result. The original picture was much clearer. The town needs to buy me a new printing press.”
“So to remove any doubt you added Mr. and Mrs. Lancer take a holiday.”
Will sat back like a poker player holding four of a kind. “You know damn well what I could have said - newlyweds - honeymooning. Look, I was just funnin’.”
“Funnin’.” Deep concentration knitted Scott’s brow and crossed his arms. “My lawyers have mentioned slander, defamation, character assassination, libel - but never funnin’. I wonder if they're aware of that legal term?”
“Look here, Lancer -“ The editor shifted in his swivel chair. “No need to get all riled up over an honest mistake.”
“Honest? That word doesn’t wear well on you, Jenkins. And as far as it being a mistake _"
“Mistaken identity. The female in this picture is smiling and looking pleasant. How the hell was I supposed to know it was Kinsey?” The editor held up his hands as if to surrender. “I’ll print a retraction in a few days. No harm done.”
“No. Not in a few days. Tonight. Front page.”
“Be reasonable, Scott.” Gesturing toward the type set forms ready for an early morning printing, the editor pleaded his case. “It will take at least another hour to redo the headlines.”
Scott ambled over to the printing press and the counters lining Will’s office. Cast metal letters composed words, then lines, then paragraphs, then pages of text which were tightly bound together to make up the forms which would print tomorrow's newspaper. Although the letters appeared backward and the stories read from right to left, he was still able to distinguish the different sections - Green River Headlines, Gossip from Around the Globe, Political Views from Sacramento -
Scott grinned. In fact, the grin couldn’t contain itself and turned into a devilish smile with dimples and a cocked eyebrow. “You know what I've been having a hankering for lately, Will? The feeling of propping my boots up on the governor’s desk in Sacramento.”
Jenkins’ eyes gradually narrowed as the statement took hold.
“I mean not immediately. I figure my boot proppin’ needs to start on a much smaller scale. Say…” Scott eye-balled Will’s desk like an accomplished horse trader. “This here should do nicely.”
“You can't be serious.”
“Sure! Why not? I mean, if a man of your...caliber...can handle overseeing a town then -” Scott leaned in. “You know, I was certain that statement had the makings of a compliment. I misjudged.” Not giving his political adversary a chance to respond, He continued with his vision of the future. “Elections are over a year away. I'll have plenty of time to build my platform regarding positive views on women’s rights, honesty and integrity in our local government - and the lack thereof. With financial backing from back east...well...” Scott paused to reflect. “Maybe I should start practicing my boot proppin’ right now while you go fix tomorrow's headlines.”
*******
One hour turned into two but it had been worth the wait. Not only were there posted headlines apologizing for a mistaken identity leading to misinformation, but how honesty and integrity are still the backbones of the Green River Gazette and mayor’s office. A gift of tomorrow's newspaper - fully printed and compliments of William Samuel Jenkins - was neatly folded in the hand of Scott Garrett Lancer. After making a stop at Henry's, the paper’s final destination would be the side table in the Great Room.
It's been good doing business with you, Will.” Scott adjusted his hat and turned to leave. “I appreciate the effort.”
“Lancer.” Jenkins stood by the press wiping the ink off his hands. “About you running for town mayor -”
“I wouldn't worry too much, Mayor.” Avoiding eye contact, Scott opened the door to step outside. “I was only funnin’.
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