Tires on the pickup crunched the snow as Ernst Weltmann drove into the hamlet, stopping at the old weather-beaten hotel – the only real business left in what was once a bustling town.
The stooped, bow-legged aging rancher opened the door into the dark pub and greeted the owner
“Hey Laddy Lee, how you doing?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Looks a little slow,” remarked Ernst glancing at the empty bar and tables.
“Been thinking of a poker night to liven things up.”
“You’d be up against that hall east of here. They have one a week,” Ernst sat at a table.
“Bet they miss old Jim. He won lotsa pots. You know from the time he was eight, he never asked his old man for money. Always won it off the ranch hands in the bunk house.
“Old Jim was quite the guy. He was 13 when he got into ranching. Leased a herd of sheep for the summer, herded them in the hills, never looked back.
“Played poker south of the line too. In the fall he rounded up all the stray cattle what drifted south and brung back what drifted south. Before he come back he’d play poker in Glasgow for a week.
“Married a girl from the Sitting Bull stock you know. He was always talking about her. Used to tell us about the time she was in hospital in Gravelbourg.
“Some of them French women didn’t figure an Indian should be in same room and they talked in French about it. They sure shut up when she bust out in French an’ gave them a piece of her mind.
“Old Jim was quite the guy. Moved to Moose Jaw at his niece's place an’ played blackjack at the casino ’til his eyes went.”
“Laddy, got any of that Captain Morgan’s spiced rum?”
“Sure do. You can’t drink from the bottle though.”
“Give me the whole bottle. Will $50 cover it?”
“Nope.”
“How about $100?”
“Okay.”
Laddy Lee was thirsty too, grabbed a bottle of Corona beer and took the top off.
“No, No, No, Don’t drink that. It’s poison,” he was interrupted.
“Poison? Whadya mean?”
“Ain’t that the stuff with the virus in China?
“No it’s not. That coronavirus is a real bad kind of flu. Got nuthin’ to do with beer.”
“Oh.”
The television was on with volume turned down. The tube pictured U.S. president Donald Trump.
“What do you think of this impeachment stuff?” asked Ernst. then answering his own question said, “I think they deserve him, liar that he is. Him and the Putin from Russia are too buddy buddy.”
“Got some cross-country skiers coming from the park in a while. Better get the steak pit ready,” said Laddy Lee. “Actually rented some rooms out.”
“That park sure never lived up to the promise,” Ernst took a swig from the rum bottle.
“Was supposed to bring in 20,000 people a year. What do they get, maybe 4,000?”
“At least they’re lettin’ some cattle in keepin’ the grass down so’s there’s no trash for fires.”
The sun had receded, casting some darkness on the lone bar window.
“Better get a move on.” Ernst grabbed the rum bottle. “Last thing I need is hittin’ a deer on the road in the dark.”
Ron Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
