Buku Dusk Along the Niobrara by John D. Nesbitt
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Dusk Along the Niobrara by John D. Nesbitt

Author:John D. Nesbitt

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning

Published: 2019-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

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Dusk Along the Niobrara by John D. Nesbitt

CHAPTER EIGHT

As I stood at the bar in The Missouri Primrose and gazed at the painting of the lady lying on the couch, I was surprised to see a detail I had not remembered. In addition to lounging on one elbow with her tawny tresses covering some parts of her upper body and a gossamer scarf draped over her hip and waist area, she held a white flower dangling from her free hand. Now that I saw the flower and registered it, I realized I had seen the original many times, quite often on hillsides, in that cloudy, moist time of year that passes for spring in Wyoming.

Other than the flower, which had been easy to forget, nothing in the painting suggested a specific time or place. Like other paintings I have seen since then, it was raised in a lofty never-never land, above the hanging cloud of tobacco smoke, above the jingle of spurs, the clomp of boots, the chatter of voices, and the occasional slap of a leather dice cup.

 

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Dusk Along the Niobrara by John D. Nesbitt

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Dusk Along the Niobrara by John D. Nesbitt

Author:John D. Nesbitt , Date: June 28, 2019

,Views: 45

Author:John D. Nesbitt

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning

Published: 2019-06-27T16:00:00+00:00
CHAPTER EIGHT

As I stood at the bar in The Missouri Primrose and gazed at the painting of the lady lying on the couch, I was surprised to see a detail I had not remembered. In addition to lounging on one elbow with her tawny tresses covering some parts of her upper body and a gossamer scarf draped over her hip and waist area, she held a white flower dangling from her free hand. Now that I saw the flower and registered it, I realized I had seen the original many times, quite often on hillsides, in that cloudy, moist time of year that passes for spring in Wyoming.

Other than the flower, which had been easy to forget, nothing in the painting suggested a specific time or place. Like other paintings I have seen since then, it was raised in a lofty never-never land, above the hanging cloud of tobacco smoke, above the jingle of spurs, the clomp of boots, the chatter of voices, and the occasional slap of a leather dice cup.

The Saturday night crowd consisted of men from our building crew, working men from town, and ranch hands who rode in from the country. The atmosphere, as I felt it, had a general tone of relaxation, freedom from care or worry. Later on, men might whoop and holler in exuberance or raise their voices in anger, but the night was young. It seemed innocent and honest, a time to “drive dull cares away,” as the song went. Beneath the surface, however, a memory nagged at me. I recalled George Hodel from the night before, tossing out remarks about malice and injustice for the benefit of anyone who would listen. I hoped and hoped he would not walk through the door tonight.

I drank from my glass of beer, mindful not to gulp it down too fast. It had a good taste after a week of sun and dust—and antagonism, I admitted. The ill will had worn on me, and I was glad to be away from it for a while.

Dunbar and Del Bancroft had fallen into a conversation next to me. I do believe they could have talked about building a wooden ark or a palace of ice. Second in rank to my fear that George Hodel might show up was a worry that someone would see me standing by myself and would try to engage me in a conversation. I would rather be left alone, to think about Emma or to brood about Dick Ainsworth and Boots Larose and the question of whether Alex Garrison ever stole a horse.

After half an hour of rumination and most of my glass of beer, I saw a full glass set in front of me.

“This man,” said the bartender, pointing at Del Bancroft.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You bet.” Del smiled as he scratched his full head of hair. During the week he had worn a cloth cap, which I thought would be better than a hat when a man was working close to lumber, but he did not wear it to the saloon.

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