CHAPTER 7FRENCH ARMAUD was as much a product of the railroad construction camps as were the Irish gandy dancers who laid the winding miles of steel. He had followed the expanding track westward from one work camp to the next, his saloons and gambling houses the largest in each place.
But when the construction crews forged westward from Dexter Springs, Frenchy remained, transforming his wood and canvas bar into a more substantial structure, importing an inlaid back bar, huge mirrors and crystal lamps.
“I’m here to stay,” he’d once volunteered. “I’ve spent twenty years wandering and I’m a little tired.”
He did not look tired. He was a short French-Canadian, with wide shoulders and powerful arms. His father had been a voyageur for the Company and Frenchy had been born in the mountains and
