This wasn't what I expected. If my mother or father could see me now amid this place, they would probably disown me. This was a bed-house, and in the back of my mind, I knew I was in the wrong place.

"Well, this is your room, Mr.?"

"Ron, you can call me Ron and yours?"

"Everyone here calls me the bar dog. It seems like you had a rough time getting here." His eyes lingered on my clothes.

I looked down, noticing my dirty shoes and torn attires. "Yeah, I ran into a bit of trouble on the way. Can you tell me about the town?"

We placed the luggage down on the ground.

The bar dog rubbed his chin. "Well, what do you want to know? The town has been here before me and probably will be here long after I am gone."

"How did the town get its name?"

"Black Water, well, the small ponds on the outskirts on the ride up to the burned church used to be beautiful at one point, but after digging in the area for gold. They found oil, and it turned the ponds black."

"Oh, that is not very creative."

He chuckled. "They are many places with worse names."

I scratched my beard. "Can you tell me about the post office and any work that I might find?"

"The post office is connected to the cargo trains, so I guess you can send letters anywhere. I assume that's what you want to know?"

I nodded.

"I haven't used it though. Work, that's a tough one."

"Why?"

"You'll soon see for yourself. Even I had trouble when I first came to the town to find work."

"Is that because —"

"No, no, it's not the color of my skin. Only the rich or the city folk ever had a problem with former slaves. Nowadays, everyone's interest is about war and survival."

"I see."

"Yup, this town is known for exporting oil for kerosene, grease but those jobs are already filled. I am sorry if I wasn't much help."

"No, that's fine." I raised my hand out to shake his.

"Oh, you're certainly not from around these parts."

"It's not accustomed to shake hands here?"

He returned the gesture. Our hands touched, and L. B. lay branded on his arm.

"Not with people we don't know."

"I see."

"We don't see too many belvideres here, so apologies about the girls. Did they scare you?"

"I didn't expect them to be in the same place as the beds."

"Well, there used to be an inn here with a bath, but that got burned down last year. Since then, I have opened my door for travelers. Don't worry, no one is going to think less of you here. Where you stay is nothing to nobody."

I nodded as we stood there.

The room was cramped, but it was a welcome sight compared to the alternative of sleeping on the road.

"Alright, I will let you settle in. Remember, only two people."

I nodded.

His footsteps tapped on the wooden floor as he headed back to the front.

Before I sat on the bed, I placed the last of the actual on the desk. Karen wouldn't have to put up with me being a burden once I secured a job. I exhaled and walked back out to the front of the saloon.

Men were deep in drinking. What accompanied it were shouts, stumbling dances, and singing that lit the halls. The bar dog stood behind the bar, shining glasses. The men were rough. Most of their clothes were unkempt from being primarily on the road. Their eyes trailed upon me like a vulture towards a meal.

It was the clothes. Despite being ragged, the fabric drew attention, and an uncomfortable feeling sank in my stomach.

I stepped outside to find a lanky, well-dressed man observing my wagon.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

The man looked from me to the wagon. "So this is yours. How much do you want for it?"

"It's not for sale."

His hand rubbed his short black hair. "I would offer two times the amount you paid for it. I can see the craftsmanship."

"Still not for sale."

"Not for sale?"

"If I sell it, what would I ride?"

He laughed and stepped forward to me. "You can ride the horse. What city are you from?"

"I am not from —"

"Yeah, right, that accent of yours is strong."

"You aren't from around here, either. You stick out like a sore thumb."

The man chuckled. "True, I am not from around here, either. It's good to see an unfamiliar face. You play dominoes?"

"Yeah, I play."

"If you beat me in five games, I will pay you three actual."

I placed my hand on my chin, feeling my full beard.

"There isn't nothing else better to do in this one-horse town," the man said.

#

We played for hours now, and the man had paid for the drinks as they came. He was good, but mostly it didn't seem like he was ever trying to win. A mire of questions and more whisky followed each game. The questions weren't anything noteworthy. They were straightforward and more about my likes and dislikes, from my drinking preferences to what I liked about women. When I mentioned Karen, he changed the subject. This man had good taste, from his clothes to how he carried himself and his impression. He was like an upper-class nobility stuck in the backyard that was this place. At first, I thought it was an act, but now I wasn't too sure. I wasn't too sure about many things. I wasn't too sure who was actually winning anymore. We sat in the front, using one of the regular tables to play. Maybe it was me, but the seats were frowsy.

Who was this guy, anyway?

"What, what is your name?"

"Bill, and you?"

"Ron, my name is Ron."

The bar dog chuckled as he placed the drinks on the table and walked away. "That is the medicine man, Ron."

"Medicine man?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's why I want your wagon. I need a replacement to sell my products," Bill said.

My eyes scanned the room, landing on some men glaring at us.

"Why is everyone in the bar staring at us like that?"

"Well, it's how we are dressed. Think little of it, though. The farmers haven't been seeing much actual. It is because of the trains bringing in the cargo from different states. They are competing with prices that have the power of slave labor."

"How much of a price difference is it?"

"It depends on what you're looking at and how you spend. Sometimes three to ten actual higher after all the deductions and the cents are totaled."

"Damn."

"Yeah, so many come here to join up for the war of the land or find someone desperate to buy their product."

"The war of the land, huh?"

"Yeah, didn't you see the recruitment setup outside? Those that don't go that route drink themselves to death here or that mini lush-crib. It's a hard life for everyone."

"Why are you here then?"

"In misery, there is always opportunity."

"Is that why you look so decent?"

"It's a part of my trade. Another game?"

"Sure."

We played a while longer. This time, Bill said nothing. Each time we played, he won. It was as if another person was here entirely. He got up and placed actual on the table when it was late.

"This is for you. It was fun. If you ever decide to sell the wagon, I would be ready to buy it."

"Thank you, Bill."

"Oh, Ron, and if you need a job, I will be around town for some time. Men like us in a place like this should stick together."