The Golden Saloon (by Robin)

Summary:  A REALLY Lost Episode.  A Sequel to “The Moving Tale”

Word Count:  2400



                                           The Golden Saloon


It was a half hour after midnight in the Golden Saloon. Joe Cartwright was shaken and drowning his sorrow in whiskey at the bar. It wasn’t easy to lose another girlfriend and Le Noir was special.

Doc Martin number one (the chunky guy with the weak chin who asked Julia Bulette to help out when Tourista swept through Virginia City) was there having a drink with Doc Martin 2 (the tall skinny one with the moustache) and Doc Martin 3 (the one with the white hair) and keeping an eye on Joe. It was no fun having to pronounce another Cartwright girlfriend dead. This was the seventh one in the last 3 months, eight if you count the flash back telling the story of how Ben Cartwright met Hoss’ mommy in IKEA.

 “Doctor, Doctor, Doctor!”




“You’ve got to help me – I just can’t stop my hands shaking!” said Mr. Tarjay, owner of the mercantile. He had worked late trying to balance the account book. Now that Adam Cartwright had come up with that recycling the burlap bag thing, it took him an extra two hours to close up.

“Do you drink a lot, Mr. Tarjay?” asked Doc Martin number one.

“Yes, do you drink a lot?” asked Doc Martin number two.

“Do you?” the third Doc Martin asked eyeing Tarjay.

“Not really – I spill most of it!” said Mr. Tarjay.




Meanwhile, Hoss Cartwright strolled into the place. The saloon was noisy and terribly crowded with cowhands, miners and a visiting troop of mimes who were causing a lot of trouble. A five piece jazz band was playing not-yet-invented jazz. There was a trumpet player, a clarinetist, a drummer and a young singer, Frank Sinatra.

Hoss knew about his beloved brother Joe’s latest broken heart and immediately came to watch over his little brother after picking up some snacks at Tarjay’s. Hoss had loaded up the buckboard with Pepperidge Farm Tahoe cookies, jerky, pulque, sheep dip, cow chips and tootsie rolls, then headed over to the Golden Saloon to check up on Little Joe.

It was going to be the last trip into town Hoss would be able to make for the next few weeks so he needed lots of grub. Hoss had pulled the shortest nose hair when Pa was divvying up chores. He found that was in charge of painting the entire barn and had bet Adam a thousand dollars and his entire collection of not-yet-invented Elvis records and his stuffed Winnie the Pooh doll that he could finish the entire job in less than two weeks while Adam, Joe, Pa and most of the hands were on the naugahide round up and celebrating at the Star Trek Convention in Vegas. Logical Adam, a fan of Mr. Spock, liked being the best looking guy at geeky events like Star Trek conventions and picking up needy women in spandex and velour. Joe had kept in touch with his pal Bones McCoy over the years and hadn’t seen him since the “Ride the Wind”. Ben was hoping to go for a quiet moonlight dinner with Nurse Chapel but only Hoss knew about that.

Hoss sat down at one of the tables opposite the jazz band and ordered a beer and some Buffalo wings and a platter of ptcha. (Note from Prof. F Sheets, noted Bonanza scholar from back east U.: Ptcha is garlicky calf’s foot jellyaspic made by boiling calves’ feet until the natural gelatin is extracted. The liquid is strained, then combined spices and refrigerated until set. Calf’s-foot jelly was once thought to be a restorative for invalids. Adam lived on ptcha for three months after he ruptured his uvula hauling Kane across the desert during the “Crucible”).

Hoss looked around the Golden saloon. Sure enough, it was an amazingly pretty glittery place. Everything was shiny and metallic gold. Even the saloon girls wore dresses made from shiny gold satin and decorated with gold beads and gold sequins and sparkles. The girls wore gold ribbons and feathers in their bouffant teased-up 1960s-looking hair too.

A sultry sexy saloon siren named Sonia, wearing shimmery satin, seductively sashayed over to sweet sincere shy Hoss. Sexy Sonia seductively leaned against Hoss and softly said, “This is your lucky night, handsome. I’ve got a special game for you. I’ll do absolutely anything you want, Sweetie, for $300, as long as you can say it in three words.”

Hoss immediately turned bright red. This is the most gorgeous woman he ever met and she was making him an amazingly amazing offer to him. “You want ME?”

“Sure! So, cowboy… anything you want if you can say it in three words.”

“Anything?” Hoss turned even redder and started sweating nervously. “In three words?” Sweat dripped off his forehead and pooled in his arm pits, staining his leather vest that Hoss had worn since Season Two.

“Anything!” the voluptuous saloon girl in gold lame said, blowing in his ear. “Whatever you want, Big Boy!” She batted her eyelashes at Hoss and blew kisses at him.

Hoss fanned himself with his hat and licked his lips. This gorgeous girl would do anything he wanted for three hundred dollars as long as he could say it in three words. He closed his eyes trying to picture exactly what he wanted this appealing woman to do and tried to figure out just the three words to describe the exciting deed. His brothers would never believe what he was going to do with a willing woman.

“Anything, big boy!” she repeated, rubbing her hand on his cheek.

“Anything?” Then Hoss replied, “Hey, why not?” It was a sure fire thing. Hoss pulled his wallet out of his pocket, and one at a time counted out three hundred-dollar bills on the table, and said, slowly, “Paint…the…barn.”




Meanwhile, on the other side of the Golden Saloon, Roy Coffee and his deputy Clem came into the bar to check out the new place.

They saw Little Joe drinking his 43rd beer, trying to drown his sorrow for his latest deceased girlfriend, Le Noir. Poor adorable Little Joe was snookered. His green eyes were rolling around in his head like the ball in a roulette wheel.

”You had better head home, son,” advised Roy, shouting above the band. “Go home, Joe!”

“Yeah!” agreed Clem. “Before I have to run you in, Joe!”

”You can’t run me in!” Joe got to his feet, swaying like a willow in a typhoon (which is what hurricanes are called in the Pacific). Joe said, “I can hold my beer!”

“Are you sure?” Roy said. He tapped Joe with a feather that had fallen off a passing ostrich that had just come to the Virginia City Camel Races.

Then Joe passed out flat on the icky sticky, shtunky but shiny golden floor. Hoss, who had finished his arrangements for barn painting with the saloon girl, scooped him up, walked out of the Golden Saloon and threw Joe across Cochise and they headed for the Ponderosa.

Next, Roy and Clem looked across the Golden Saloon. “Look!” said Clem. Roy saw a stranger walk into the Golden Saloon. The stranger had a wooden peg-leg, a hook for a hand, and black patch over his eye. Soon he was throwing down whiskey as if it was well water or not-yet-invented Kool-Aid.

“We better check that feller out, Clem,” Roy said walking across the saloon.

“Howdy, stranger. I am Roy Coffee. I’m the sheriff here in Virginia City. And this is my deputy Clem Foster. “We ain’t looking for no trouble here.”

“Howdy,” said the stranger to the sheriff. “And I ain’t looking for trouble neither.”

“What are you doing here in town?” Roy asked the stranger.

“I’m a pirate.”

”A pirate? What brings you to Virginia City?” Roy asked.

“I’m on a vacation while my ship gets fixed up in San Francisco. I’m headed to Vegas for the Star Trek Convention.”

”Star Trek Convention? You don’t look much like a Star Trek Fan,” said Clem.

“I’m really not much of a fan but I do have a lovely wedding gift for Mr. Sulu. A not-yet-invented toaster oven,” said the stranger. There was a gaily wrapped gift on the floor near his peg leg. “My name is Pete.”

”Pirate Pete?” Roy and Clem said in unison. Roy and Clem were amazed to see a pirate in Nevada Territory. The last time there was a pirate in town, the guy claimed to be Jean Lafitte. This pirate had a wooden peg-leg, a hook for a hand, and patch over his eye.

 Unable to resist, Roy Coffee asked, “How’d you end up with a peg-leg, Pete?”

“Well….I was swept overboard during a fierce storm,” said the pirate taking another drink. “And a bloody shark bit off me whole darn leg!”

“Holy cow!” said Clem, shaking in his boots. He still had nightmares about not-yet-filmed “Jaws”, and when the Cartwright boys got wind of it, they drove him crazy sneaking up on him and humming the theme of the movie until he screamed like a little girl. Once Little Joe even freaked him out in the public bath house by floating a not-yet-invented plastic shark fin in Clem’s bubble bath. Clem ran naked down C Street for half a mile before he tripped over a pile of manure. It took Clem months to live that down.

“What about the hook? How’d you get that?” asked Roy.

“Me crew and I were boarding an enemy ship, a fierce sword battle ensued. One of them cut me darn arm!” said the pirate taking another drink.

“Absolutely incredible!” gasped the deputy.

“And the eye patch, tell me how you got that?” asked Roy Coffee.

“A bloody seagull dropping fell into me eye,” replied the pirate.

“Poo poo in your eye? Poo poo in your eye? Poo poo in your eye?” gasped the three Doc Martins shuddering at the idea. “GROSS! Gross, Gross!”

“Umm, you lost your eye to a seagull dropping?” asked the sheriff. It took a lot of gross stuff to shake up Roy Coffee. Unlike Clem, he was a tough guy.

Embarrassed, the pirate answered “No sir. Not from the poop. It was me first day with the hook.”




Two hours later, Hoss and Little Joe finally goes home. Joe was completely drunk that night. He lurched through the front door, crashed into the side board and fell down on his adorable face. His father, who was just about to head out to hunt for him, exclaimed “Little Joe! “

Hoss scooped his inebriated brother off the floor with the handy drunk scoop that Hop Sing had leaning against the kitchen wall. It was sort of like a huge spatula and came in handy during prom season and after the death of the various doomed girl friends the Cartwrights hooked up with. Hoss helped Joe to his feet. Adam, who had been sitting in Ben’s LaZboy lounger reading the not-yet-written sequel to the not-yet-written “Gone with the Wind” and picturing himself as Rhett Butler, took the hat off Joe’s head and hung it up. Joe staggered towards the stairs, tripping over the coffee table and knocking over the bowl of wax apples there that Adam had placed trying to trick Hoss.

Joe got up and was met by his scowling father, who was most definitely not happy. “Joseph! You went into Virginia City to pick up the new not-yet-invented DVD player to play the German DVDs of Bonanza because the REAL ones will never come out in the US and Adam got me the German ones for my birthday on not-yet-invented EBay and now it is almost dawn! Where have you been all night?” Ben demanded.

“Don’t jump on him, Pa,” Hoss gently explains. “Le Noir Schmidt died in the last episode and Joe is still all upset.

”I had a few drinky winkies, Pa!” Joe grinned, barfing on his father’s boots.

“He went to that new saloon to drown his sorrows,” Adam added. “After all, isn’t that sort of a family tradition?”

”The new saloon?” Ben asked as Adam valiantly mopped up his father’s boots.

“It’s a fantastic new saloon, Pa,” Hoss said staggering up the stairs carrying unconscious Joe. “The Golden Saloon. Everything there is golden. It’s got huge golden doors, a golden floor, the works – hell, even the urinal’s gold!”

“Go to bed, all of you. We’ll discuss this in the morning,” Ben ordered Hoss, whose head was filled with dreams of winning the bet he had with Adam.

“Golden Saloon!” Ben Cartwright grumbled. “Hoss has to be exaggerating!”

“Why don’t we ask Roy after Le Noir’s funeral tomorrow?” Adam suggested as he helped his father put the coffee table, apples and DVD’s back in order.

The next day after yet another dead girlfriend’s brief yet sad funeral, Adam and Ben strolled into Roy’s office “Is there a new place in town called the Golden Saloon?” he asks the sheriff.

“Yes there is,” Roy answered.

“Does it have huge golden doors?”

“Sure does.”

“Does it have golden floors?”

“Most certainly do.” Clem nodded. “Shiny gold!”

“Hoss said the gals wear golden dresses,” Adam said. “Is that so?”

“They do… most of the time exceptin’ when they are earning $300.”

Adam looked nervously at his father. Ben said “And then what are they wearing then?”

”Painter’s overalls,” said Roy.

“And a cap,” added Clem. “They always wear caps. They don’t want no paint in their hair.”

Both Adam & Ben breathed a sigh of relief. They sure didn’t want any saloon gals to get paint in their hair.

Just then, the bartender and one of the musicians from the Golden Saloon walked into the sheriff’s office. They intended to register a complaint but seeing that the sheriff and his deputy were engaged in an intent conversation with a silver haired rancher and a handsome, younger cowboy dressed in black, the bartender and musician waited by the door.

“What about golden urinals?” Ben asked. “This morning, my son Hoss insisted there were golden urinals in the Golden Saloon.”

There’s a long pause, the bartender turned to the musician and said, “Hey, Bob, I think I got a lead on the guy that peed in your saxophone last night!”


The End

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