“Tyler!” Melissa bellowed as she walked back in the bar, “Ty – if that man comes within a stones throw from this establishment I want you to kill him, understand? Kill him dead! Leave his rotting corpse draped over the hitchin’ post.”

“Uh… yes ma’am…” Tyler replied, and slowly backed away into the pantry.

She smoothed out her petticoat and called for Katie, “Bring me my skirt. The blue one. I caint be waltzin around in my underwear in broad daylight. That son-of-bitch. Had me out there hootin and hollerin half naked. Ty! I want you to set fire to him right after you kill him! You hear me!”

A muffled reply from the pantry, “Yes’m…”

“Miz Tate, you’ll let Ty kill that no good rat bastard so call pastor, for me, wont you?” cried Melissa.

Maggie Tate, the proprietor of The Norse Hall and sporting house, sat quietly in the booth stage left, sipping coffee from Wedgewood porcelain. Her hair a wild tangle of sandy curls, strangled back with a black velvet bow. Around both wrists leather cuffs. A stout woman, her bustier strained to hold her ample bosom. The low cut neck proudly displayed her great cleavage, but also revealed a scar leading from just above her right breast, disappearing at an angle over her left.

“Yes, love,” Tate replied, “Ty can kill him if you’d like.”

A crash of silver from the pantry.

“Katie,” Tate said as she stood, “Call the girls down please.”

Katie turned to go up the stairs.

“And my blue skirt!” ordered Melissa.

Mollie Tate stepped up to the small stage.

“No, Melissa, you go with her. Tell the girls to gather their things and bring them down with them.”

Melissa’s mouth opened slightly.

“Yes, get the girls and tell them to bring their things.”

Melissa followed Katie up the wooden stairs.

With short, quick steps Tate stepped over to a brilliant silver trumpet and removed it from its stand.

Tyler leaned his head out from behind the pantry door.

“Tyler, you can come out now.”

Tyler slowly stepped out of the pantry and started for the kitchen.

“Stay out of the kitchen Tyler.”

“But ma’am, I have to…”

“Stay out of the kitchen. Thats what you have to do, Tyler.”

“But ma’am, my things…”

“…are not important Tyler. Do not go in the kitchen.”

“But my…”

“Ok. But Tyler, hurry.”

Tyler shuffled through the black swinging doors into the kitchen.

Mollie Tate raised the silver trumpet to her breast, briskly tapped the valves, lifted the horn to her bright red lips, and blew a quick B♭ concert scale up, held the middle C, started slowly back down the scale yet speeding up before the lower C note. And again. Quickly up, then slowly back down picking up speed as she passed the F on her way down.

She cleared the spit valve and raised the trumpet again. Her girls were now making their way down the stairs, some with bags, others pulling small trunks behind them. Maggie Tate began playing a quick, bright ragtime tune, tapping her button boot on the stage.

The girls slowly gathered at the front of the stage, some chatting with side eyes toward the stage, others tapping their feet, others swinging their shoulders to the beat Mollie Tate was shoving through that silver trumpet.

When she was done all the girls clapped. Some enthusiastically, some not so much.

Mollie bent slightly to bow, then made her way to the booth, stage left, still carrying the trumpet.

“Girls,” she said, “Its time we moved on. This town is dried up. Theres nothing but dirt here and theres never going to be anything but dirt. Us cows need a new pasture.”

The girls began to murmur, whispering to one another.

Mollie Tate said loudly, “That is enough! I have taken care of you girls and I will continue to take care of you. But its become too difficult here. Theres nothing left of the town but mud, dirt and blood. What men are left are penniless, the poor bastards. Hell, its been so long since he paid us a visit I’m not sure the sheriff is still alive.”

Katie stepped forward.

“Where we goin, Ms. Tate?”

“Girls, we’re going to Lurleen.”

Melissa pushed her way to the front.

“No!! That piece of horse shit no good lyin’ Reverend Goodhope is going there! I just told him I wasnt going to no Lurleen! No! Please Ms. Tate, no!”

“Relax, Smelly-Mel, we’ll take care of him if he bothers you. Right Tyler?”

From the kitchen a jangle of metal bouncing off metal, falling to the ground, rolling across a floor, spinning to a clanging end.

Another girl stepped from the gaggle.

“Ma’am, things will turn around, surely! Besides, theres nothing wrong with this place!”

The girls nodded their heads at each other. “Surely!”

Maggie reached deep into her bodice and withdrew a cigarillo. From the black velvet bow holding her hair she snatched a match. Striking the match across the left leather cuff, she lit the cigarillo, smoke slowly gathered around her face.

Maggie asked incredulously, “Nothing wrong with this place?”

The girls nodded, “Yes ma’am, this place is just fine!”

Maggie asked the girls, “What about the kitchen fire?”

The girls looked at each other confused and asked, “Kitchen fire?”

Maggie threw the lit match into the kitchen, immediately igniting the grease trap.

“Yeah,” she said, “The kitchen fire!”

The girls began screaming, holding one-another, backing away from the bar as one mass.

“Out the back girls!” Maggie ordered, “Grab your things and go out the back, this way, quickly!”

Maggie lifted a moderate size portmanteau from under the table and began dragging it across the floor to the rear entrance. She stopped for a moment and turned to the now engulfed kitchen.

“Tyler? Are you coming?”

Through the black bump-doors what appeared to be a man-sized piece of charcoal burst into the bar. Clothes singed, hair smoking.

“I told you not to go in the kitchen, now didnt I?”

Quietly, “Yes’m…”

“Come on now. We’ve got a train to catch. Mind your bag now, Tyler,” she said, tapping out a small flame on his tote.

The girls had gathered on the back porch. Some crying, but Melissa staring out to the horizon.

Maggie took a step on an awaiting buckboard.

She turned to Tyler, “Go get the wagon, please. Thank you.”

Tyler set his still smoking bag down and jogged toward the barn.

“Girls? Girls,” she ordered, “Your attention please.”

“Girls, Tyler is getting the wagon. Please load your things and make your way to the train station. We will wait for you there. There are tickets for all of us.”

The girls continued to whisper and cry. Melissa stared blankly to the west.

Maggie stepped down and moved to Melissa. She put her arms out and beckoned Melissa for a hug. Melissa blinked and put her head down. She quietly moved to Maggie Tate, who embraced her and used her leather cuffs to wipe Melissa’s tears.

“There, there, my sweet, sweet Smelly-Mel. Its going to be ok, I promise. Its a new beginning! How exciting is that, love? You, me, Jiggles, Fat-lap, Scare-bear, Ruby-toots, we’ll all be fine. I promise!”

Tyler pulled up with the wagon. The girls placed their belongings into the back and began walking toward the train station.

“Oh, shoot, Tyler?”

Tyler turned to Maggie.

“I forgot the liquor.”

Tyler’s eyes got wide. He slowly turned his head to the now fully ablaze building, smoke billowing from the windows and doors.

“But, ma’am…”

“Go on,” she exhorted, “Just grab as much as you can. Hurry!”

Tyler took off his shirt and dipped it the water trough. Wrapping his head, leaving only his eyes uncovered, he ran into the burning building.

Maggie mounted the buckboard, snapped the reins to get the horses attention.

“Lets get on with it you bunch of mangey, sway-back, bow-legged nags! Lets see what kind of future we can make for ourselves in Lurleen!”