'Why are you scared?' Joey asked.
'I saw old Ben,' Beulah said.
'He only hunts, he won't bother you,' Joey said. He was hungry, and he wanted Beulah to settle down and cook his meat.
'It ain't Ben,' Beulah said. 'Wesley Hardin's here. He showed up yesterday and killed that nigger that worked for the blacksmith.
Wesley put a gun to my head, once. I was in Fort Worth then.' 'Why?' Joey asked. 'So he wouldn't have to pay you?' 'He didn't do nothing to pay me for,' Beulah said. 'He just likes to see people look scared. It don't matter to him if it's a man or a woman. He just likes to see people look scared.' Later, Joey went to the saloon, carrying his rifle. He never left his rifle. In Crow Town, all the people were thieves, and he did not intend to risk his fine gun.
A skinny man was sitting at the table next to his. It was the only other table in the saloon.
The man wore a dirty black coat and had ugly skin, blotched and red, and it peeled in places from the sun and the wind. The man had thin, brown hair. Joey could see scabs on his scalp and on his hands as well. The man's foot twitched as he sat at the table, drinking whiskey. He didn't have a fine rifle, either, just a plain revolver, stuck in his belt.
Nonetheless, the killer John Wesley Hardin was the first gringo Joey had met in a long time whom he didn't take lightly. The man didn't even look at him, when he came in with his rifle. Wesley Hardin was not impressed, or even interested, which was unusual. Few people in Crow Town, or even travelers passing through, missed any chance to steal a look at Joey Garza.
But Wesley Hardin, the killer, didn't look. He was chewing tobacco and spitting the juice on the floor, although the saloon was provided with two brass spittoons.
Joey had barely sat down, when John Wesley Hardin looked up, but not at him. He looked up at the local blacksmith, whose name was Lordy Bailey. Lordy walked in the door, a large hammer in one hand, and went straight to Wesley Hardin's table. The blacksmith was a large man with a heavy black beard that was so long, he had to tuck it into his overalls while working his forge. He was not afraid of anyone, including Wesley Hardin. When he walked up to the table where the famous killer sat, Lordy was frowning, though John Wesley Hardin looked at him pleasantly.
'It's costing me fifty cents to get a grave dug for that nigger boy,' Lordy said. 'You shot him. I think you ought to pay the fifty cents.' 'Why bury a nigger?' Wesley Hardin said.
His voice had a tone in it that Joey hadn't heard before. It was a crazy tone. Wesley Hardin's eyes were cool, but he was scratching his scabby wrist with his other hand. Joey thought the blacksmith was very foolish, for speaking to the killer so brusquely. He would probably be murdered for his rudeness, and it would serve him right. His prices were high, and his work was not particularly skillful.
'We all need to be buried,' Lordy said.
'Do you think my nigger ought to just lay there and stink up the town?' 'Drag him off a ways,' Wesley Hardin suggested. 'That big pig might come along and eat him for you. It would save you the fifty cents.' 'I paid fifty dollars for that nigger,' Lordy said. He began to flip the big hammer up in the air, and caught it when it came down, without even looking at it. He made the big hammer seem light as a twig.
'I figure that's fifty dollars and fifty cents you owe me,' he added. 'Fifty dollars for the nigger, and fifty cents for burying him.
Give it over.' 'You're a fool if you paid cash for a nigger, in these days and times,' Wesley Hardin said. 'You don't have to buy niggers, anymore. It's not even legal. Abe Lincoln freed them. All you have to do now is take a nigger, if you see one you want.' 'I paid for this one and you owe me,' Lordy insisted. 'Give over the money.' 'You're an ignorant sonofabitch, and you don't know the law,' Wesley Hardin said. He began to get worked up. His twitching foot twitched faster.
'Here you buy a nigger you didn't have to buy, and because I killed him, you come in here disturbing my morning,' he went on. 'I could kill you seven times before you could drop that goddamn hammer on your toe. Don't be playing with that hammer in here. The ceilings are too low. Go outside if you want to play with your hammer.' He took the plain revolver out of his belt and pointed it at the blacksmith, but the blacksmith was too angry to back down.
'You owe me, give over the money,' he repeated, for the third time.
'You sonofabitch, I heard you,' Wesley Hardin said. 'If you want to live, get gone.
If you'd rather die, flip that hammer again.' 'I don't think you're the killer you claim to be, Hardin,' Lordy said. He was wondering if he was quick enough to smash the man's head in with the hammer before he could pull the trigger.
'I don't claim nothing,' Wesley Hardin said. 'I don't claim one goddamn thing.
Last time I was in jail, they kept me in nine years and whipped me a hundred and sixty different times. I stood it, and here I am. They whipped me because I wouldn't submit, and I won't submit. I hated the goddamn jailers, and I could kill you and nine like you and never even belch. I've left about forty widows so far, I guess, and I've killed a few bachelors, too. You're welcome to try me any time you want to try me.' Lordy decided that, after all, the risks were unwarranted.
'I'd like to smash in your goddamn skull, but I'll leave the pleasure of killing you to Captain Call,' Lordy said. 'I don't know if he'll choose to bother about a scabby old turd like you.' 'Woodrow Call?' Wesley Hardin asked.
'Why would he want to kill me? He arrested me once, but it was just because of a little feud I got into in Lampasas. Call ain't the sheriff of Crow Town. He don't even live here.' 'No, but he's coming,' Lordy said.
The news seemed to excite Wesley Hardin, the killer. His tone got crazier.
'Coming to Crow Town, Captain Call?' he said. 'Why, that's bold, for an old shit his age.' 'He's coming, but he ain't after you,' Lordy said.
'You ain't important enough, anymore. You're just an old killer waiting to die.' 'Why's he coming, then? Does he expect to clean out the town?' Wesley Hardin asked.
'He's coming for the g@uero,' Lordy said.
