Sounds from the newly formed town are deafening compared to the silence of the desert. Laughter slivers across the rocks like a moccasin. Drunken yelling follows. Pops can be heard from a whip; but more likely a pistol.
Caleb grasps at his chest, subconsciously covering his embedded card. Reality hits him the closer he gets to the boomtown.
“Every person here is looking for that card.” He whispers to himself. “They would kill me for a card. Just like those poor folks on the trail. Like the man who was being drug behind that horse.”
The kerosene lamps swing in the canyon’s breeze. The lights dance across the town.
Caleb stops when he sees the town sign. Painted in white, the words “Whispering Sands” wave in the desert wind. On either side of the handmade sign, two men. Ropes around their neck and hands tied behind their backs. A smaller sign is nailed to both men’s chests. “Thieves Not Welcome” scrawled across.
The town doesn’t seem to be bothered by death hanging over the welcome sign.
Caleb notices nothing but drunks in the streets at this hour. Girls in short, ruffled dresses call out to him to come join them inside a saloon called “The Desert Rose.”
“I need to get some place off the main road. I’m exhausted.” Caleb thinks to himself as he walks past a fistfight breaking out between what looks like a group of gamblers. Playing cards spilled into the streets as strangers dive for the hopes that they are magical.
He ducks down a street to see a canvas tent with smoke coming out of a stove pipe. The makeshift sign out-front just says “Vacancy.”
Caleb ducks his head as he walks through the door. Sleeping cots line the perimeter of the large tent, a communal sleeping space is what it looks like. An older man sits at a desk near the entrance and clears his throat when Caleb walks in.
“Howdy there young man. You needin’ a place to sleep this evening?” Smoke from a cigarette escape with every word.
“Yessir.” Caleb takes his hat off as he addresses the man. “How much is it for the night?”
“One magic card will do.” The old man’s missing teeth show through a crooked grin”
Caleb’s heart sinks. “Can people see that I have a card?”
The old man breaks the awkward silence with a raspy laugh. “I’m sorry son.” He covers his mouth as he coughs the rest of his smoke out. “You youngsters are so gullible! Just pullin’ your leg. Dollar a night for a cot here and that’s the cheapest night’s sleep you will find in Whisperin’ Sands. Lot of folks coming in for this new card.”
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Caleb looks around at the available places to sleep. Only a few beds are taken, it seemed. Gear stashed under a taken cot.
The older man notices Caleb looking at the cots. “Nobody is going to steal in here, son. I keep my trigger finger at the ready.” Caleb sees the man holding a shotgun under his table, pointing towards him.
“Can’t be too careful, boy.” The playful man slowly loses his grin. “You don’t mean to come in here and rob my patrons now do ya?”
“No sir!” Caleb takes a more passive stance, hoping that he doesn’t come off threatening to the man pointing the gun towards him. “I was just seeing if you had enough room for me and was hoping you would be able to make change.”
The old man sits back in his chair and grabs for a hidden bottle of whiskey. He pours a shot into a crystal glass he had next to his ash tray.
“That a boy. Take whatever bunk you like. I’ll wake ya up when the sun rises.”
Caleb gets his change from the makeshift innkeeper and throws his bag onto the first available cot. “I think I’m about as safe next to that man with a shotgun as I will be anywhere in here.”
The lonely tent became very busy once the saloons started to slow down. Men started trickling in, the smell of cheap whiskey and dashed gambling dreams seeped through the now crowded inn. Caleb closed his eyes, hoping that he would be looked over by the rowdy guests. He heard the familiar voice of the innkeeper, and the threat of his shotgun. Men shuffled passed Caleb to get to their cots, fearful that the owner would keep his promise of putting a hole in their chest.
Drunken snoring and the constant smell of cigarettes kept Caleb from getting any actual rest. He was use to the calm winds back at the farm. The light creaking of the windmill would lull him to sleep every night. Here, the gasping of air through an untrimmed mustache could wake a dead man.
Caleb awoke to a loud banging on each cot. The innkeeper seemed to use that shotgun of his to do anything. The men from last night could be heard groaning from their beds. One man heaved on the side of his bed, which earned him a knock to the back of the head from the every-present shotgun. The smell of sin made Caleb hold his own gag back.
“I need to get out of this cesspool” Caleb thought to himself as he sat up in his stiff cot.
“Gather your personal effects if you have paid for only one evening. Your time here at the Always Vacant Hotel has come to an end.” The old man grabbed his ash tray and tossed the contents outside the canvas.
Caleb looked at the others in the tent. A few of the men began packing their gear up. With just his father’s bag, Caleb stood up and made his way to the only exit.
“Any place you suggest getting a meal around here?” Caleb’s stomach made an audible groan.
“Ain’t you a card hunter?” The innkeeper lit another cigarrette. “You can’t even find breakfast and you hope to get a card! Boy, you are taking up space here in my fine establishment. Move out of the way for paying customers.” The old man was getting angrier the more he went on.
“Always Vacant Hotel earns its name honestly,” Caleb said under his breath. He opened the canvas door and was greeted by a town he can now see clearly. The bright sun of the morning was hot and the pull from his card began to itch. Begging to be fed.