Red West II.

Chapter five - Encounters

Simply put, Leadville could be described as one huge silver camp. But in that case, it was the craziest camp Jin had ever seen. The dirty pubs sharing space on the same street with the luxurious saloons and hotels; the rich houses standing in neighborhood of the poorest sheds of those, who searched for wealth unsuccessfully so far; the ladies anxious about not getting their dresses dirty, walking past the colorful frontage of whorehouses, which verandas were occupied by the harlots offering their services shamelessly; the streets overcrowded with carts and carriages, but also with horses' shit and old newspapers.

The valuable mineral, which was the very reason of the current steady flow of immigrants to the city, was included in every business, in every conversation, in every robbery. Leadville was growing up and spreading too fast and too wildly to be controlled.

It took Jin hell a lot of time to find a building of Post Office in that morning chaos. He discovered it at the crossroads of two shady streets consisting of many small houses, which were built quite close to each other.

The young gunslinger was in a hurry, as he wanted to get back to the tavern before his small walk to get some fresh air would have been noticed as suspicious; so he entered the building quite relieved.

The Leadville's telegrapher was kind of unusual as well. The man was sitting in the spacious office, which was brimming over with dozens of sealed packages and boxes. The man's boots unmannerly rested on the table, which was supposed to be a place for letters and the telegraph machine only.

This post office employee was reading the latest newspaper, when Jin entered, and he turned his attention to the young stranger only lazily, eyeing him from head to toes.

"What do you want?" he asked annoyed.

Well, that is some attitude towards a customer, Jin thought.

"To send a telegram, please," he replied calmly.

"What?" the man snorted.

"This is a post office, right? That thing on your table works?" Jin asked, starting to be a little pissed off.

"Yeah, it does," the postman folded the newspaper down.

"Fine. I want to send a telegram then," Jin repeated his request frowning.

The man stood up from his chair, as if it was the most troublesome thing in the world, and took a paper with pen from the shelf above his head.

"So? Where to?" he asked rudely. "I don't have a whole day for this, man."

"Denver, Blake Street Saloon," the upset gunslinger hissed, determined not to give to the ill-bred man even a cent above the necessary prize.

*

Jin was on his way back, walking through the middle of the street, smoking a cigarette, and not really aware of the happenings around him, as he was lost in his thoughts.

He pondered if Kame had already arrived to Denver or not, and if his telegram would even reach him, especially with that fucking lazy telegrapher. He had no idea what was happening with the younger one during those long winter months and the longer their separation was, the gloomier Jin turned. It would have been really great if Kame had managed to catch up with him sooner than he would be forced to move away from the place again.

"Ah! Here you are!"

Jin was almost at the tavern, when the cheerful voice reached to him. It was Ryo, who almost bumped into him, throwing his arm around Jin's shoulders.

"Will you help me a little, Big Akanishi?" the black-haired one requested pleadingly.

"With what?" Jin mumbled, shaking the other's hand off.