Gold Dust Widow: The Story of an Outlaw's Revenge

Chapter 35: Clara

Two months later

The night was drawing to an end, but the jovial mood of the miners was intoxicating, and the saloon was quickly bustling with drunks and gamblers. A loud band played in the corner, the fiddler constantly dashing through the gambling tables to grab drinks and tips.

The bottles of whiskey and brandy were flying off the shelves, much to Mr Payton's delight. He even ignored the amount of alcohol tossed onto the wooden floors, and the chairs that got knocked over every time a drunk accused another of cheating.

Girls stood on the bar, lifting their skirts and singing along to the music. A few couples even stood up and took to the dance floor, spinning around with glee.

I skirted through the tables, holding glasses and food, slipping out of the men's reach and greeting my customers with a wide smile.

"Clara!" Mr Payton waved me over, gripping his pocket watch as I hurried towards him.

"Sir?"

"Table seven wants another ground. Do you think you can take care of it?" he asked, pushing a bottle of diluted brandy towards me.

I grasped it with a nod, glancing back at the table in question. A large group of at least eight men were playing a fairly loud and violent hand of poker. They all reeked of alcohol and had never been seen in town before. Their type was obvious to all, and frankly, I was the only one who wasn't afraid of them.

"Yessir," I answered. Bowing to a man's authority would have been a lot more difficult if Mr Payton wasn't such a wimp and basically asked me for my permission before doing anything.

"Thanks," Mr Payton looked relieved and leaned back to shout orders at the poor new girl trying to clean behind the bar.

I sauntered over to the rowdy table, the man barely noticing until I got closer enough.

"Top up, boys," I informed them, holding my palm out for their coin.

The men grumbled and grunted, fishing for their money, while one skinny man eyed me slowly.

"How about I play you for it," he winked. "And for the rest of the night."

I scoffed, serving the first man who paid me. "Sweetheart, you could never afford me," I told the skinny man.

His companions roared with laughter. But the glint of rage in the man's eyes told me that he wouldn't take the insult standing. I placed my hands on my hips and stared at him.

"Filthy whore," he snarled. "I'll have you screaming by the end of the night."

"And until you pay up, you'll have an empty glass," I reminded him, my expression hardening. By the awkward chuckles of the men nearby, I was getting the impression this man was in charge, and not used to not getting what he wanted.

Finally, he reached out and placed and coin in my outstretched hand.

"Smart thinking," I congratulated him, leaning towards him to pour the brandy into his glass.

It was a step too far and his hand lashed out, grasping onto my wrist.

I winced in pain as he pulled me down on top of him. His filthy beard tickled my cheek.

I could feel his skinny fingers digging into my hips.

"You'd do well to obey me, whore," he growled in my ear.

I met his gaze calmly; the sound of a pistol cocking had him freezing. The men at his table stilled as I lifted, and I pressed the barrel of my gun against the side of his face.