Young Writers Society

The short man cracked his whip, and spurred the horses along. Dust roiled underneath their hooves and swirled past the wagon as it bounced along the well-worn path. The man looked around, enjoying his surroundings; plains stretching for miles in each direction with tree lines in the distance. On the right side of the wide path stood the only man-made structure in eyesight.

As the big wagon rolled up to building the driver pulled back on the reins, and slowly came to a stop. He looked over the building. It was rather small, with maybe only enough room to hold a loft for travelers. But that was fine. No reason to stay here a night.

He put the brake on and hopped off the wagon seat. There was a small veranda leading to the log-style looking building. A faded sign swung from rusted metal hinges, and it read Travelers Tavern. The man quickly stepped up to the door and swung it open.

A blast of smoke and tobacco, mixed with the repugnant smell of beer hit him like a battering ram. He coughed twice and then took a deep breath. He then entered, pulling off his black coat, and slinging it over his left shoulder. He ran a hand through his long brown hair.

]A quick survey of the interior showed five large round tables, crowded with beer mugs and littered with playing cards. There were too young lasses cleaning off the table with dirty rags. Both looked skimpily dressed, and the man wasn’t surprised, looking at the condition of the tavern.

Several burly men sat off to the right of the bar, which lay directly ahead of the short man. Each was puffing a pipe and playing a card game. The racks at the back of the bar were sparsely covered with bottles, and one big barrel of ale was turned over the edge of the bar for easy pouring. The short man stepped to the bar and said to the short, wiry bartender: “Give me a beer.”

“Yessir.”

The man pulled a large beer mug from underneath the bar, and filled it up to the brim. Foam threatened to spill over the edges as the tavern man handed it to the short man. He took it and sat at a table near the doorway. He took a large draft of the beer, wiping his lips with satisfaction.

“Nothing like some good beer to clear the trail dust out of your throat!” He took another drink and sat back in his chair, observing the card game. The one man whose hand he could barely see over his big shoulder, had quite a terrible hand. All but one card was below a five. The object of the game was to ascertain at least three ten’s, or two nobles. This player had none.

The short man took another swig of beer and smiled at the lass who walked by, cleaning the nearby table. “Hello,” he said, what’s our name?”

She smiled back shyly. “Oh, ‘ello. M’name is Susie.”

He stuck out his hand. “My name is Kinnard.”

She looked at his outstretched hand. Finally she put down her rag and wiped her hands on her apron. Then she took his hand.

“My, what beautiful hands you have,” the short man said.

Susie blushed and her hand fluttered to her chest as she shyly smiled. “Thank you sir. You is very kind.”

He released her hand and glanced over at the card player. He now had a noble. He must have gotten a good trade. A trade was done by discarding one of your cards in exchange for taking one blindly from the pile. It paid off that time.

One of the other players hollered: “Hey lass, where’s that beer I ordered!”

The other girl, much heavier than Susie, walked over. “I just give ya one! You already drunk it ya slob!”

The man stood up, sending his chair flying. “How dare ye speak to me like dat!”

He raised his hand back, but Kinnard quickly stood up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The man turned, hand still raised. “And just why would I not! You stay oot of my business!”

The plump girl turned to Kinnard. “Ya don’t need to take mah place! I can handle this buffoon any day o’ da week.” With that she sent a lightning jab at the man, sending him tumbling into the wall. A moose head pinned to the wall above, shuddered on the impact.

All but one of the other men at the table stood up. Kinnard watched as the last one, the one he’d been watching all along, scratched the back of his neck. But when he pulled his hand back down he held two nobles and a ten, along with a four and 2. That’s one way to win.

The large waitress was now was red-faced, and had her fists up like she was ready to take on the whole lot. But none of the men seemed to keen on taking on an angry woman. They slowly sat down, but the fifth man who had been barreled into the wall stood up, shaking his head.

“Ye’ll be regettin’ that’n!” He advanced on her, teeth barred.

Kinnard stepped past Susie, who had been watching frightfully, and caught the man’s fist as it come forward to hit the waitress. Then he twisted the arm back behind the man.

“I can break your arm if I wish. Now stop the fighting or I will.”

The waitress laughed loudly, like a chicken. “Oh did ya see that boys? This buffoon here dun got whupped by a wee little pretty boy.”

The man was sweating now. Five . . .four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .

“Alright!” the man hollered. “Alright, matey, I’ll let the lass go!”

The short man turned to the waitress. “And if you wish to have customers enjoy your company, I’d suggest working on your manners.”

The woman guffawed. “Oh but I enjoy this. And anyone who speaks to me as if I was a cow, is gonna get a piece o’ mah fist!”

Kinnard pet go of the man and pushed him back into his chair. Everyone watched as he went back and sat down at his chair, next to Susie.

“Now, where were we?”