The next morning Adam sat at the window of The Singing Hinny, reading a month old copy of the Saint Paul Gazette, sipping at a beer, and eating a plate full of eggs. The beer and the eggs helped a little with his hangover. Truth be known, all he wanted to do was climb back into bed or a bottle; whichever he found first. However, his conversation with Mayor Fish the day before had left an impression upon him, and he needed to be sober for the town council meeting. Adam had heard that a representative of the Anacreon Ranch was be in attendance. Anacreon and its Squire had come to interest Adam greatly.
The cast of characters began to dribble in. Gully gave Adam a whispered commentary as he busied himself with sweeping the floor.
First the Mayor stomped up the front steps of the Hinny, brushing the dust of the street off his frock coat.
“Only Mayor the town's ever had.” Gully said. “Don't remember there ever being an election. Only man with money in town, though. Guess that sort of automatically makes a man the Mayor wherever you might be.”
The Mayor seated himself at the pool table Gully had converted for the meeting. A bottle of whiskey and a number of glasses were already on the table The Mayor helped himself.
Next a barrel chested man in an ill fitting jacket came in and scanned the room. He had a mane of red hair, and hands that size of slabs of meat. He exchanged a muted greeting with the Mayor, and removed his jacket.
“Big Ben Bell.” Gully whispered. “Blacksmith. Doesn't speak much, but you sure listen when he does.” Big Ben sat, and the Mayor poured him a drink.
As if in contrast, a small, quick man entered after the Blacksmith. His eyes darted back on forth around the bar, as if quickly auditing the contents of the room. He wore spectacles and and dark suit, carrying himself slight hunched over.
“Josey Thibodaux. A Gentleman of the South before the war, so they say. Was the Assayer here back when there was something to Assay.”
Josey sat and took a drink. He exchanged greetings with the Mayor, and Big Ben acknowledged him with a nod and a single booming word: “Reb.”
Finally, to complete the council, a thin man with a thin mustache and a preacher's collar blew into the saloon. He fidgeted with his hands, obviously uncomfortable with his surroundings. He took a seat at the table. No one offered him a drink, and he didn't reach for one.
“The Reverend Evan. The less said there the better...”
“Reverend Evan?” Adam said, mopping up the last of his eggs with some crusty bread. Gully just shrugged. As Adam raised from his chair, the man from Anacreon pushed through the swinging doors. He dressed like a cowboy, but his calfskin vest was too spotless, and the brass of his belt buckle too shinny to be any sort of working man. On his hip in an leather holster he carried some sort of nickel-plated revolver that Adam didn't recognize. He was flanked by two sinister looking weather beaten men who we obviously the real deal. He paused at the threshold of the Hinny to give Adam a bemused look. Satisfied, he continued to the pool table with his men following. Adam positioned himself at the bar near the table, well within earshot.
“Gentlemen of the Council-” He said before even sitting down. He accent betrayed education.
“Now hold on,” Mayor Fish interjected. “First thing gotta be first. Robert's Rules and all...”
“If it pleases the chair-”
“Didn't I tell you to hush? Seems to me, that I got the roll call here...” The major began to dig through his papers.
“First things heck!” The small man named Josey said. “We all know who's here. We gonna have this meeting or ain't we?”
“Ain't an official meeting until we call the roll...” The Mayor found his paper.
“Well, I'm here ain't I? You can't miss Big Ben. You, sure as Dutch, are here, and the Preacher's right there. There! Roll is called. Let the dandy fella of the Squire's say his peace and we can all get back to working!”
“Will you cork it for a spell, Reb! We also got the minutes of the last-”
“Oh heck!”
Everyone began to talk at once. For a good half a minute, chaos reigned. Silence was only restored when the mayor pulled a revolver from his belt and rapped the butt on the pool table like a gavel.
“Fine! Enough with Robert's Rules of Whatever. You all know Jacob Banner of the Anacreon Ranch, other side of the Big Sue. He's rode down today to talk with us all.”
“So let him talk!” Josey said, and poured another glass of whiskey. The Mayor threw up his hands, and took his seat. The man named Banner found a chair, and sat.
“Gentlemen of the Council. I've come to talk to you today on behalf of my employer Clint Burbank. Known to some as The Squire. It being less than a week before the final roundup of the year, my-”
“Get to the point.” Big Ben thundered. Everyone jumped a little in the seats.
“I'm getting there... Seeing as this is the last week to drive cattle across the Big Sue before she gets mudded in, and as the Squire is planning on driving as many as ten thousand head through town.”
“If your boss wants a break of the stockyard fee, you can tell him to forget it!” The Mayor interrupted. “Endaleleen's got preciously little to tax as it is, and cattle drives tear up the streets something awful.”
“No no, you misunderstand me.” Banner said with a grin. “The Squire ain't looking for a break on the corral fees. In fact, he's thinking he'd like to pay more.”
This was met with a table full of silence.
“Squire was reckoning End of the Line was in a hard way what with the miners and their money all going to Deadwood. We got to thinking that perhaps it was time for the Council to flex it's muscles a little, if you understand my meaning.”
“Not really?” The Reverend spoke up.
“Well, with beef constituting the largest voting block in town, it seems only fit that they pay their fair share. Why tax the people of End of the Line, when cattle is worth so much more.”
“You suggesting we tax the beef?” Josey said.
“A nickel.”
“A nickel?”
“A horn.”
“A nickel a horn? Why, that's.... That's a lot of money...” Josey tailed off, while everyone did some mental arithmetic. Adam had heard enough, he turned away from the pool table and got Gully's attention.
“Another beer, Gully.” he said. This got Banner's attention, and he turned to size Adam up. With beer in had, Adam turned back to the proceedings. He raised his glass to Banner. Banner seemed a little put off by Adam's knowing grin, but he continued.
“Think of it, Gentlemen. This time next year this Council could be meeting in a real Town Hall, not a foul smelling beer hall, being gawked at by drunks. With the amount of beef hoofing through this town on its way to the abattoirs of Chicago, this town could be something. Why let all that money fill the pockets of the ranchers, when you could make this into a good, decent town where folk could raise their families and be happy to call home.”
“Nickel a horn seems totally reasonable.” Said the Mayor. “After all, what's beef selling for in Saint Paul?”
“Seems only right to keep a little of that money here...” Josey added.
“With the revenues we could build a school house.” The Reverend thought out loud. “Offer incentives to reopen the storefronts. Give people a reason to move here other than gold...”
“With a school,” Big Ben's brain moved slower than the others. “they'd be children again...”
“It seems I've made my point.” Banner said, raising from his chair. “I'll relinquish the floor so the Council can debate the point. The Squire and myself back the Council, whatever you decide.” Banner and his two compatriots moved towards the door as the Council began to excitedly discuss how they were going to spend the tax revenues. Adam followed Banner to the door.
Outside in the brisk autumn mountain air, Banner and his men mounted their horses.
“Nicely done.” Adam said, leaning against a post, sipping at his beer.
“What's that?” Banner replied.
“I said, nicely done. In there. You sold them on a nickel-a-horn.”
“Just call me civic minded.”
“Yeah, I guess. Say, answer me something?”
“Sure.”
“Who's going to be collect this beef tax?”
“Figure that'd be the Sheriff's job.” Banner said with a smile, spurring his horse.
“Figured so.” Adam replied, staring down into his beer.