Vancouver (Staunton series) Ch. # XVIII friends in strange places

         Vancouver- City of Adventurers_ Ch. # XVIII

                          Friends in strange places.

 

      The next few days were a welcome routine. Jim and Ian had had enough adventure for the last few weeks. The hotel was literally growing up around them, as they worked. People would stop and stare at all of the many workmen scrambling on their ladders and adding to the project. They looked like a swarm of ants working together in a coordinated effort.

 

 Ian’s leg wound was almost healed. And, they had not heard from the Mounties again.

        During the brief lunch breaks at work the topics focused on a few areas.

         “Have they heard anything more about that missing logger lad,” asked Spike McGee, of the assembled masons.

 

         “No,” said Red O’Neil. “I hear that even the Mounties have given up the search. That wilderness area up along the River is just too big for anyone to cover.”

 

             “Well, then maybe a Grizzlie Bear took him,” said Spike McGee. “The Lord knows we are careful whenever we are up there. The bears seem to be everywhere.”

 

              “Or, the lad could have been full of the drink and fallen into the river and drowned,” said Red O’Neil.

 

               “Well at least that will never happen to Ian Mac Adams,” said Spike McGee with a grin. “Those new stirrup straps of his should hold the lad in place,” he said, to the hoots of laughter from the lads.

 

                Ian laughed as well and said “Go on with you, Spike. Sure, I’ve heard enough tales of your antics at Gassy Jack’s.”

 

                 “Me?” said Spike with an angelic countenance. “Sure, they must mean another lad.”

 

                Jim kept his piece, thinking of all that they had been through in the last few weeks.

 

              The other topic that permeated all of their conversations was “Gold.” The noise was becoming a drum beat, that everyone talked about endlessly. The old ones dredged up sodden memories of an adventurous youth, where wild women, like Big Betty Baranski, entertained the men until their gold dust ran out.

 

              None of the tales sounded particularly believable, but the old lads told a good tale and the stories were worth listening to. They just added more fuel to the fire.

             Jim told the lads “There is a remarkable poem that a young Frenchman  has come out with, detailing some of his experiences during an earlier gold strike.  “The face on the bar room floor,” by Hugh Antoine  D’arcy. It captures much of what the mournful reverie that the old lads speak of. You might want to read it sometime.”

 

            “The man is a literary critic,” exclaimed Spike McGee. To the general derision of their mates. Not too many of the lads had the reading and writing like the Mac Adams brothers had acquired.

            
        On Wednesday, Ian and Jim stopped by Staunton’s after work. They sat at their usual corner stools, watching those around them.

 

        Big Betty Baranski gave them a wave and an enthusiastic greeting. “Evening lads, good to see you both again,” she said

 

         “You too Betty. I hope business is good for you,” said Jim with a wink.

           “Oh, grand,” said Betty. “I have them practically laying down on the floor for me,” she said with a coarse laugh.

 

          The brothers laughed appreciatively. Betty was a character of the first rank and they admired her lively spirit.

 

     “Barney, lad. Do you think we could get a few beers?” hollered Jim. “Or, do we have to send out to Seattle for a brew?”

 

          Barney waved in acknowledgement and poured the drafts. “Here, Jim. Sorry, we are a little busy this evening. Drink them in good health,” said Barney

 

           After quenching their thirst, they ordered a second round.

 

            “What have we this Saturday, Jim?” Asked Ian. “I am fixing to ask Laura out for a walk on Sunday afternoon after church services and then a stop at the café for dinner.”

 

             “That works for us Ian, “ said Jim “Most of the work on Saturday will come from you and I laying the firebricks for the new kiln. I think we can manage that. If Selkirk comes to help, we will show him a few tricks of the trade.”

                “And you have figured out how to handle that dome you mentioned?” asked Ian.

 

                 “I have,” said Jim. “Peter Sadler drew me a rough sketch of the temporary wooden frame, that we will have to throw together. It will hold the bricks in place until the mortar dries. Then the weight of the bricks will support each other. I think it will work well enough.”

 

                  At that point, three good- sized men entered the saloon and sat down at a table. Barney served them glasses of beer and then walked over to Jim. “Be on your guard, Jim,” he said. “Those three lads are from the logging camp on Vancouver Island. The silver haired man is the top boss, Mr. Henry Phelan.”

 

                 “Thanks, Barney,” said Jim. “We will watch our backs.”

 

                   “The saints preserve us, “ said Ian. “Do these lads never stop?”

 

                    “I don’t know, Ian. But, if it is trouble they are looking for, It is just what they will find. The Mac Adam’s men don’t back down from anyone,” he said with determination.

 

                     As if they had heard the conversation, the tall, broad -shouldered man, with the silver hair, stood up and walked towards the brothers.

                     “Get ready, Ian,” Jim whispered.

 

                      “Mr. Mac Adams, is it?” asked the man politely.

                      “It is,” said Jim.

                       “I am Hank Phelan. I run the logging camp over on Vancouver Island. I understand that you have had a few disagreements with some of our lads.”

                       “We have,” said Jim, getting ready.

 

                        “Well, I thought I would stop by and offer you my apologies. These lads work hard for me and spend weeks in the woods earning their keep. Sometimes, when they get into Vancouver and stop for several beers, they get a little feisty and say things they shouldn’t.”

 

                       “Aye, we have seen that,” said Jim.

 

                       “I have talked to the lads and told them that there will be no more of that stuff,” said Mr. Phelan. “I am a business man with a reputation to protect. This is a hard land and hard men are needed to scratch a living from the wilderness.  But, I’ve no need of that foolishness.”

 

                         “That is good of you, Mr. Phelan. We have no need of trouble either,” said Jim.

 

                           “You are the two lads building the brickyard up along the Fraser River, are you not,” asked Mr. Phelan.

                             “We are,” said Jim.

 

                              “And when would you be in operation?” asked Mr. Phelan.

                               “We hope to be turning out bricks by February’s end,” said Jim.

                                “Well, then let me know,” aid Mr. Phelan. “ We are always adding on buildings at our camp. Perhaps we can do business. Right now, I have to have bricks shipped up from Seattle. The extra cost eats away at our profits.”

                                 “Thank you, Mr. Phelan. I will keep you informed. We can always use the business. I think we can come to agreeable terms.”

                                  “ Fine,” said Mr. Phelan. “Then I wish you two lads good luck in your business.” With that, he turned and walked back to his table.

                                 Barney carried over two nugs of beer, set them down and said, “This is from Mr. Phelan.” 

                                 Jim and Ian both turned and waved over at Mr. Phelan. “Now that was unexpected,” said Jim.

 

                                 “Aye, the man was decent enough,” said Ian. “And maybe we have found a good customer in the bargain.”

                                 “Aye, we might have,” aid Jim. “I just hope we don’t have to go through all of this grief with every potential customer, “ he said with a grin.

                                 “Nor I,” said Ian. “What say we call it a night?

                                 Jim and Ian slid off of their stools, waved to Barney and gave a final nod to Henry Phelan. They had just met a good and decent man., who would become  friends of the Mac Adams and the Sadler families for generations. 

                                 The night air was cool as the brothers walked back to their place. Jim just hoped the weather would hold for another week until they had the kiln constructed.

 

                                 It had been an odd day, with a strange ending. Hopefully, tomorrow and the next few days would go along just as easily.

 

                                                        -30-

                                                ( 1,405 words)

                                           Joseph Xavier Martin