Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club, BOOK I Read online

his time, such as toothpaste and a toothbrush. The overhead, gravity-feed system provided only a slow, warm trickle of water. The toilet was a wooden seat with an open hole that allowed you to see the passing railroad ties fly by, and if you opened the small window to freshen the air, smoke and sparks flew in. Still, he thought, I am back in the 1800s. It’s what I always wanted, and here I am. He straightened his clothes as best as he could in the tiny compartment and smiled to himself. Start every day as though it were the first day of the rest of your life. He unlatched the door and stepped out onto the tight aisle and walked forward to the dining car.

  Low wooden partitions surrounded tables that sported white linen tablecloths. Most were taken already, and Bill was surprised at the girth of most of the men. He thought, the people of my time are always crying that we are the fat generation. Well, this proves the contrary. Then again, these people don’t have the benefit of knowing about fats and cholesterol, and indulge as they see fit.

  A burly man finished his breakfast and Bill slid into the seat he vacated. Even after noticing the girths of his fellow passengers, he was lured by the smell of fresh bacon, sausage, and eggs with toast smothered in butter. He ate every bit of the breakfast that was set before him and washed it down with two cups of coffee from the smiling waiter. Making sure that there was nobody waiting for a seat, Bill then followed the others by lighting up a cigar. Oh well, when in Rome, he thought as he listened to the various conversations in the car.

  The talk was mostly about past trips taken by his fellow riders. So far, the consensus was that this was a good trip. No bison ripping up the track while trying to scratch the itch caused by their new horns, no miles of wild horses crossing in front of them, and no Indians. At least not yet, Bill thought as he settled down to watching the Wild West roll by.

  Later that day, at the end of a small town called, Rattlesnake Haven, the train stopped to take on water. The conductor announced that it would take almost an hour so most of the passengers got off to stretch their legs. Bill went into town and was surprised to see that the hot sun kept most of the townsfolk off the streets. Horses stood with their heads hanging low, all tied to rails in front of stores, their tail whipping back and forth chasing flies. One of the places with the most horses out front was the bar, “The Dustoff,” and Bill decided to step in out of the sun.

  He stepped through typical, swinging doors and went to a long, wooden bar. It was cooler inside but not by much. Bill thought, well, at least it’s out of the direct sunlight. Not wanting to seem nosey he stood at the bar and used one of the three large mirrors behind it to look around. Most of the round tables were full of card players and many had silver nuggets in front of them. There was an upright piano against the wall and a skinny man with a thin mustache played some songs unknown to the time traveler.

  A tall, heavyset man with his black hair parted down the middle asked as he wiped down the bar, “What’s yer poison, friend?”

  Bill looked at what two men down the bar from him were drinking and said, “Beer.”

  The bartender pumped a long wooden pump-handle attached to a keg beneath the bar and it splashed beer into the large, chipped glass he held beneath the spout. Seemingly satisfied that the foamy head was larger than the yellowish beer, he placed it in front of Bill and said, “Four cents or a pinch of silver.”

  “Afraid you’re going to have to settle for the coins, my friend,” said Bill with a grin as he put the coins down. He remembered that the bartenders and other tradesmen in the boomtowns were picked because of the size of their thumbs and index fingers. The reason was simple: if a miner paid in gold dust or silver nuggets, the man with the larger digits was able to get more from the bag the miner carried it in.

  He took a pull of his beer as the barman walked to another customer. Hey, he thought, pretty darn good! He saw a sign behind the bar with chalk printing that stated: Pork sandwiches 7 cents or 2 pinches of silver. Ham/boiled or fried-same price. Steak when available-15 cents or 6 pinches of silver. Potatoes or carrots extra.

  Bill decided to stay with the proven foods of the railroad and not take a chance with a town that will probably disappear as soon as the silver does. He finished his drink and left to stroll down the main street. Once again it was deserted except for a group of dogs sniffing around. A sharp blast of the train’s whistle told all to get back aboard and Bill walked back down the tracks to the huffing train. He got back as the engineer was shifting the waterspout from the filler cap on top of the train’s engine back to the large, wooden water tank.

  Boy, he thought watching something that never takes place anymore in his time, this is the best! I have to start bringing a small camera along on these trips.

  Hopping aboard he got to his seat as the train blew its whistle once again and started to roll along. It was a constant battle between the people who wanted to open the windows to fight off the heat and the people with window seats who were burned by the hot sparks as they were sucked into the car.

  Relief came after five days when Bill heard the conductor announce that Dodge City, Kansas, was about an hour away. Although it was a fantastic experience, the time traveler was happy to take leave of the train. He reminded himself to bring more underwear next time he took a cross-country trip in this time period. And if possible, another suit, a lightweight one, plus extra socks. Lessons learned, he thought as the hot train slowed to a stop.

  Alighting from the train, he saw what passed for a horse-drawn cab and, even though the town was in walking distance he knew it was a chance to get some information, so he waved to the driver, a young boy with long, black greasy hair tucked under a yellowish straw hat that was frayed all around the brim. The shoeless boy jumped down and grabbed Bill’s carrying case. He was evidently happy to be hired.

  “Welcome to Dodge City, mister. Where to?”

  “Not sure. Is there a hotel around here?”

  “Yessir, the Splinter House,” answered the talkative boy, happy to have gotten a fare, “It’s not really called the Splinter House, it’s the Coronado, but it’s made o’ wood and it’s old and if’n ya’ walk on the front walk without yer boots, ya’ get a splinter.”

  Bill smiled. “I’ll make sure not to take my boots off then.”

  “Want to go there, mister?”

  “If you recommend it, why not?”

  The boy beamed at being listened to. Bill took the seat next to him. The youngster pumped the reins and shouted, “Giddyap!

  Bill held on tight to the wooden seat as the buggy hit a few ruts and asked, “Tell me, son, do they serve food at the Splinter House?”

  “Yessir, but if’n you want good grub, go to Pearl’s on Main Street. She’s a real good cook. And she washes the dishes after every meal. I know ’cause I work there.” He said proudly, “My name’s Timmy.”

  “Then Pearl’s it is, Timmy,” said Bill, as he looked at sights seen only in his dreams. He noticed that the boy kept his wagon’s wheels in two ruts that ran down the right hand side of the street and any wagon coming toward them drove in the two ruts on their side. Pretty smart, he thought, ride the groove and have fewer bumps on the wheels. Of course, they probably all disappear after a rainstorm. Then again it doesn’t rain too often here.

  Timmy took him to the Coronado Hotel on the main street.

  “How much, Timmy?” the time traveler asked as they pulled up in front of the hotel.

  The boy removed his hat and held it in his hands as he said with a shrug, “I dunno, mister. Nobody ever rides with me. They mostly jus’ walk ta town.”

  “Well, then,” said Bill as he dug into his pocket, “how’s about ten cents?”

  Timmy’s eyes bulged as he stammered, “Ah-I mean, well, sure mister. Ten cents is sure okay with me. Are ya sure though?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “Thanks a whole lot, mister an’ if ya need help getting’ around town, jus’ find me in Pearls.” He tipped his hat, slapped the reins gently and rode off with a big smile on
his freckled face.

  Bill smiled to himself as he stepped over a dried mud hole and piles of horse droppings to reach the front walkway. Timmy was right, he thought as it creaked beneath his feet, it’s old and worn.

  The creaking alerted the clerk as Bill approached the small front desk. The short, chubby man with thick, red sideburns jumped to attention, as Bill dropped his traveling bag on the floor, raising a small dust cloud.

  “Yes sir! Welcome to the Coronado. How long ya’ figure on staying?”

  “Not sure, a day or two.”

  The clerk turned a dirty book toward him and pushed a straight pen and ink bottle forward. “Put yer marker here or just plain put an ‘X’ if’n ya’ need to.”

  Bill printed, “Bill Scott.”

  The clerk turned the book around again. “Mr. Scott. That’ll be one dollar a night.

  Bill counted out three singles and laid them on the counter. The man immediately put the cash in a drawer and said, “Another fifty cents if’n you want a towel and one dollar for hot water for a bath. We serve breakfast and dinner, but it’s not part of the dollar. Ya’ gotta’ pay extra for that.”

  Bill put down another half dollar. “A clean towel and I assume there’s cold water available?”

  The man grabbed the coins and stuffed them in his pocket rather than the drawer, as he looked around. He handed Bill a