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“I’m indebted to you,” the man said.
“It was no problem at all, mister.”
He stuck out his hand. “The name’s Albie Bramwell.”
Percy smiled as he took his hand to shake. His grip was strong, but his eyes... there was a flicker of something, held for a beat too long. Percy had to make himself speak. “Nice to meet you, Albie. I’m Percy Collins.”
“Well, Percy Collins, you know how to handle a horse.” He took the reins from him. “Ox here is as strong as his name suggests.”
Ox. That made Percy smile. “Great name. And yes, born and raised around horses. Could ride before I could walk.”
Albie smiled at that, then pointed his chin to the railing outside the saloon. He began to tether them to it. “I need to see about a room for the night. Thank you again.”
“Oh, right then,” Percy said. “I might see you around. I’m staying here too. Looking for work if you know of anything.” He wasn’t normally so brazen but he was getting desperate. His money was running low.
Albie looked him up and down, then pulled his hat low to hide his eyes. “If I hear of anything...”
Albie disappeared up the steps and into the saloon, and Percy stood there a moment watching the doors swinging in his wake.
Most of the crowd of onlookers were gone now, the few still standing there with not much else better to do, apparently. They were the pretentious kind in fine suits that looked down their noses at the likes of Percy. If only they knew he was once like them, with the clean tailored clothes...
“That’s the Bramwell kid,” he heard one of the men say. “I recognise his old man’s horse. Shame what happened to Arthur. He was a good man.”
“Hm.” The other man nodded, pursing his lips. “I heard his men upped and left him. Wouldn’t work for a kid. Can’t say I blame ’em. Des Blackwell stayed on though. And that Robert Fuller.”
The sour-faced man snorted. “A cripple and a drunk. A farm of misfits.”
“Des is a good man,” he said. “Cripple or no, he’s loyal to a fault.” He shook his head. “It’ll be to his detriment. How long do you reckon before the kid loses it all?”
“A few months, maybe.”
Percy didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was difficult not to overhear.
“It’ll be worthless soon enough, and McAllister will buy the place for pennies. And that’s if the mountains don’t kill the boy first.”
Albie came back out and he was staring at the two men. Percy could only guess he’d heard part of their conversation, or all of it, and from the way they’d straightened up, the two men guessed as much too. Albie tipped his hat to them but said nothing.
He untied his horses and gave the men a scathing look as he turned them and walked them to the side of the saloon. Percy couldn’t help but smile as they went on their way. And he had to wonder about this Albie Bramwell; his reputation preceded him. He had his own property? At his age?
It must have been quite the story for the people in the town to be talking about it.
But his men had left him, which meant maybe he did need some help. A farmhand or a stable hand, Percy didn’t care at this point. So, with that in mind, he followed Albie around the side of the saloon, no doubt taking his horses to the stables.
He went in, the smell of horse sweat and dung was cloying and familiar, and sure enough, Albie was tending to his horses in the end stall. He was taking the saddle off Ox and startled when Percy cleared his throat.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting company,” he said, dumping the saddle onto the rail.
“I just wanted to say not to let the likes of those men bother you,” Percy said. “Can’t mind their business, apparently.”
Albie gave a wry smile as he took the bridle off Ox and gave his neck a pat. “I don’t care what they think.” Then he looked around. “Are you here for something?”
Percy glanced behind him, embarrassed at being caught following him. “My horse is across the stall. I was just coming to check on him,” he lied. He’d checked on him not too long ago. He went to the stall and his horse, Bandit, came to nudge him. He smiled as he stroked his neck. “I couldn’t help but overhear what they said,” he said, still patting Bandit and not looking Albie’s way. “That your men quit on you.”
There was only silence in response, and when Percy turned around, Albie took a shovel of horse dung and slumped it against the wall. “That’s what I think of that.”
Percy hadn’t meant to upset him, but the horse-dung analogy was fair. “At least manure’s useful. Great for garden beds.”
Albie put the shovel away and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and Percy’d be damned, but Albie smiled in a way that Percy had to blink a few times to clear his mind from the dangerous places it took him. “I, uh, yeah, sorry. I just wanted to say that if you need a farmhand or a stable hand, or anything, that I’m looking for work. I’ve got a purse of silver that’s getting lighter every day, but I don’t need much pay. Just a roof over my head and one or two squares a day.”
