SADDLEBAG DISPATCHES
109
BENJAMIN HENRY BAILEY
MY FRIEND TOM A SHORT STORY
Dedicated to those that history does not remember accurately and the hope that someday all their stories will be told with honor and truth.
T
hat cold October day had started off like all the others for me. I woke early in the morning to help my parents get ready for the coming day. Working in a general store could keep someone going from open to close. Then when your parents own the store, it can keep their kids busy from can’t see to can’t see. From sweeping out the small aisles between shelves, to restocking the candy in the jars on the main counter. It kept a boy of ten running until Pa flipped the open sign and the customers came pouring in. The customers were mainly miners, but occasionally we would get ladies, cowmen, and the other assortment of townsfolk, all looking for supplies for their camps, houses, and saddlebags. The thing about people coming into the store, it gave us plenty of news and gossip happening all over, and with a town like Tombstone, it was rarely ever dull. My favorite customers were the cowmen. I had long dreamed of riding the trails and pushing cattle up to some railhead far off. Sleeping outside under the stars to riding next to a stampeding herd. Fighting outlaws and Indians. All the things that fill the mind of a small boy stuck in a general store with a broom in his hand. Mama hollered my name from the backroom and reminded me that the clothes on the shelf needed to be folded. Reluctantly, I walked over and began refolding the shirts and pants that had been scattered about from the hustle and bustle the day before. Life
was the same old thing. Wake up early, grab a quick breakfast, and get to work for the day. The times that I was not working, which were very few, I spent with some of the other boys in town. There at least my dreams of the trail were mainly shared, and we could run any crazy idea off each other and build upon that for our imaginations. My good friend, Buddy Samson, and I had planned out the whole thing. We were to save up as much money as we could so we could buy our own outfit of cattle and own a ranch together someday. The fraction of pennies on the dollar that I saw of my family business was not going to add up quick, so I felt that starting to save money at a young age was a good bet. By the time Buddy and I got older we would have our own ranch and see things with our eyes that had only been available in our minds. The time hit eight o’clock, and people started pouring in and pulling things from the shelves to buy, either with cash or to add to their credit. I watched the items taken to the front counter to be paid for, and all I could think of was how much work it was going to be to restock everything for the next day’s rush. So goes the life of a boy who has store owners for parents. The day pushed on, and the customers stayed at a steady pace. My parents would usually work together up front, helping customers load up their newly purchased items. Sometimes, Pa would have someone drop off a list, and he would box or bag it up for them.
