Even on the horse it was a long trip to Santa Fe, a longer trip by far than it would have been if he had stayed on the train. It didn't matter though, there was nothing particular in Santa Fe that was waiting for him, just another city that he'd be leaving before too long. Everything seemed to run that way for Aiken, he never got comfortable before he either felt the need to move on or trouble called upon him. He wasn't sure if trouble found him or if he found trouble, it was immaterial however, trouble was the only friend Aiken Monro knew.
The sun beat upon him and the horse as it reached its zenith. Even with his duster laid across the back of the saddle he was burning up and he knew the horse couldn't continue on in the heat. He found some sagebrush tall enough to cast a small shadow and he sat down against it, the horse following suit.
He wanted to tell himself that it was going to be different in Santa Fe, that he'd make himself a home and he'd quit moving on. Maybe run a faro table in some fancy saloon and shake hands with the owner at the end of every night. But he knew it was a lie, there would be something that forced him on. He could feel it on each hair on the back of his neck, he'd be moving on before long. He had the rifle strapped to his hip and there was a bullet chambered with someone's name upon it, he'd give it to the man and he'd move on. There isn't a home for a man carrying the judgment of God upon his shoulders.
Finally the sun began to descend, cool enough that Aiken found the horse nearby searching for something to drink. He hadn't noticed the horse get back up and wondered how long he had sat there daydreaming about Santa Fe and reconciling his fate. Taking the canteen from the saddle he poured a small amount into his hand and held it to the horse's mouth. Greedily the horse tried to get everything and most fell to the thirsty ground below. Aiken took a deep swallow and then returned to empty canteen to the horn.
"We'll ride all day and night and make it by morning,"he said as he got on the saddle. And that's what they did, stopping once at a dirty, fly filled watering hole where the horse took his fill and Aiken thought about it.
It was a long ride to Santa Fe, but there it was, a regular metropolitan and suddenly Aiken felt it, it wasn't home, it wasn't going to be home, he'd never be home. In the early morning light he could see the hustle and din of people going to and fro. Somewhere along the horizon was a castle ranch, rich barons controlling to much of the city with their regulators and cowboy gangs. Women in the city crying for suffrage while they push their children out of the home. At least it was something he said to himself.
Riding into the city, he looked for the first stable to board his horse. It was empty except for one lone nag and dust covered hay. It was good enough for him, he'd probably never see the horse again, and if he did the plug wouldn't be any worse for wear.
"What can I do for you?" An old man slowly made his way through the door.
"How much to keep him?" Aiken pointed at the horse tied up to the post.
"It's one dollar a week and you have to pay upfront for a minimum of four weeks." He hobbled to the horse and began to past it's shoulders and rub its belly.
Aiken dug into the saddlebags as he took them off of the horse's back, he pulled out four silver pieces and dropped them into the old man's hand. Throwing the saddlebags over his shoulder he turned and walked away.
"What's his name?"
Aiken stopped and turned around, looking at the horse he said, "Never had much use for a name, you give him one and that's what you'll call him." He turned around and continued into the street, moving between kids, coaches, and horses.
Down the street on the corner was what he was looking for. The building stood out among its peers, it's deep blue facade and white trim, the balcony overlooking the street, the sign said The Oriental. The large windows and blur curtains behind them accented the gold lettering that spelled out Saloon. Two large doors kept the dust from the street out of the establishment, and he had to wonder if they were meant to keep him out as well.
He turned the large brass knob of the door and walked in, it was dim lit within, most of the windows had their curtains down and everything had a deep blue tint cast upon it. A few men stood at the only faro table that was running, most wore the dusty chaps that suggested they had just returned to town from some type of cattle work in the desert. One, however, other than the banker, was a professional, his dapper cloths, pressed coat and string tie attested to his career.
Catching the eye of the man behind the bar, "Give me a shot of whiskey." Except for that brief moment Aiken's gaze never left the gambler. The gambler's eyes shifted between the banker calling for bets or turning over cards, where his bets were placed, and what the case keep showed. Aiken recognized it, they were cold and calculating, nothing was a risk, a win or a lost was what the cards had in store and he just played the odds. His cloths were clean, his boots barely showed a hint of dust, it was weakness in a man that was scared to show his dirt. Aiken hated him for it, and yet there was something about him that in the deepest recesses of his mind and heart, Aiken was envious.
"Are you new to Santa Fe?" The old man behind the bar broke Aiken's concentration.
"Sorry, I am and do you know a place that regularly boards newcomers?"
"We have a few rooms available for rent upstairs, but if you want true accommodations and plan on staying for a while Mrs. McAllister's would be my choice if I had to make one."
"I don't know how long I'll be in town, one of the rooms upstairs will be fine." He pulled a five note and a quarter out of the saddlebags he still kept on his shoulder, "If I'm here longer than what this is worth, let me know." He placed the five note on the bar and finished the whiskey he hadn't touched.
"That will be the third door once you go upstairs." The bartender said as Aiken walked away.
He was rubbing the quarter between his finger and forefinger, hearing but not acknowledging what the old man had said. He walked towards the faro table, trying to get a good view of the case keep he could see that there were still a fair number of cards in play, probably around thirty, with the quarter he could watch a few rounds before his card was called. Still, why was he doing it he wondered, he rarely won and then he'd be out a quarter and on top of that, upset. It called him though, the felt and the chance of winning was too alluring.
Aiken shouldered his way into a spot around the table and waited for the current turn to end. The banker removed the last winning card and exposed the three of hearts, it was the losing card. The banker then removed the three of hearts to expose the king of spades, the winning card. Looking at the table, the banker removed the single mark from the three and put into the houses pile, there weren't any marks played on the king for the banker to pay out. It was a simple and fast game, addicting in the bigger payout as more and more cards from the deck were played.
It was a new turn and the banker called for bets. Looking at the case keep Aiken put his quarter on the four, in the back of his mind he smiled as the gambler made the same decision. The banker began to pull the last winning card from the dealing box and Aiken saw the four before the last card was fully removed. He shook his head and walked away, not finishing the turn or even staying to watch the next. He walked up the stairs and opened the third door.
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