'You must have run wild so long, you don't realize you can be killed,' Hardin said. 'I've done been hung twice, to the point where I passed out, only they cut me down too soon.
I could be killed by a knife if it was stuck in my liver or my jugular. I could be shot by a bullet, and if it was thirty-caliber or heavier, it would probably do the job and I'd be dead. I could be bit by a snake that was filled with poison spit, or I could ride under a lightning bolt or fall down drunk and split my head on a rock.' He paused, but only to peer hard at a card that had come out of the deck he had just been shuffling.
'That ace don't belong in this deck, it's got six or seven already,' he said, laying the card aside.
'What I doubt is that I'll be killed by a damned squint like you, or a Choctaw boy, or this damn ignorant anvil of a German you brought in,' Hardin said.
'Maybe you ought to leave the anvil here,' he added, considering Hergardt for a moment.
'We need a blacksmith, and he's got the heft for it.
'I won't kill him till he thinks it over,' he added, in a charitable tone.
'Then you'll never kill him, because he'll never think it over,' Jimmy Cumsa said. 'Gardt can't think, and he couldn't shoe a horse if he had a week.' 'He can't even shoe himself,' Mox Mox said.
'Well, if he's useless, move him out of the light, then,' Hardin said.
'Move, Gardt,' Mox Mox said. 'Go outside and dig a hole or something.' 'Ain't you the man Charlie Goodnight chased to Utah?' Wesley Hardin asked, looking at Mox Mox. 'Old Charlie's still kicking. I expect when he hears you're in Texas, he'll come and chase you back to Utah again.' 'No, we're going to get him,' Mox Mox said. 'I intend to kill the Garza boy first, because he's costing me money.' 'Get Woodrow Call, while you're getting,' Wesley Hardin said. 'They sent him after Joey Garza.' 'Who did?' Mox Mox asked, surprised.
'The railroad, of course,' Hardin replied. 'I expect him to show up, any day.
Call won't bother me because there's no money in it, but he'll probably catch you and hang you properly.' 'Who's he talking about?' Jimmy Cumsa asked.
'An old Ranger,' Mox Mox said. 'He don't worry me. He never caught Duck, and he'll never catch me.' Wesley Hardin suddenly sprang up from the table and hit Hergardt in the temple with his pistol as hard as he could. He hit him accurately.
Hergardt fell right behind Jimmy Cumsa's chair. Hardin glared at Mox Mox. Jimmy Cumsa almost pulled his gun, but decided at the last second that it might not be a wise move.
'That was like whacking an ox, I hope my weapon's intact,' Hardin said. He was calm again. He looked his pistol over, and then cocked it and put it back on the table, in front of him.
'Call never caught Duck, but he caught me a couple of times, back in my feuding days,' Wesley Hardin said. 'I was pretty disagreeable, in my feuding days. Then Call went off and hung the Suggs brothers, up in Kansas. The Suggs were as mean as you, if not meaner.' 'You don't have no idea how mean I am, you scabby sonofabitch,' Mox Mox said. He was tired of insults. Besides, Jimmy Cumsa was hearing it all. He had to speak up, or let Jimmy think he was afraid of Hardin.
'Oh, you cook some chicken you drag off a train now and then,' Hardin said. 'I expect most of them are just fat Yankees. You could fry a hundred of them and it wouldn't impress me.' He seemed amused by Mox Mox's anger.
'What would impress you?' Jimmy asked.
He could tell Mox Mox wasn't going to stand for much more. He wanted to ask a few questions before the killing started, if it did.
'Well, you've got three problems,' Hardin said. 'Joey Garza, Charlie Goodnight, and Woodrow Call. Take 'em in any order you like. When you've killed any one of the three, come back, and I'll buy you and all your damn Mexicans a drink.' 'You don't think we can manage it, do you?' Jimmy asked.
'No, I don't,' Hardin said. 'You're just a bunch of chicken fryers.' 'We've been in the papers,' Jimmy said.
'The papers say we're the worst gang ever to hit the West.' He was becoming annoyed himself at John Wesley Hardin's evident lack of respect.
'I guess you want me to bow to you, because you got your name in some damn newspaper,' Hardin said.
'I wouldn't give a nickel's worth of dogshit for the whole bunch of you, and I don't care what it says in the papers. If you want to sit here and drink, do it quietly. Maybe I won't have to whack you like I whacked that lunkhead.' 'No, if we ain't wanted, we'll depart,' Mox Mox said, standing up. 'When I come back, I'll bring you three heads, and then I'll expect an apology for your rude behavior, Mr. Hardin.' Hardin was studying his cards. He didn't look up.
Mox Mox waited, but Wesley Hardin seemed to have forgotten their existence.
'Why don't we go back in and kill him?' Jimmy Cumsa asked, when they were outside. The horses had all been dumping; several piles of horseshit steamed in the dirty snow. Pedro, Peon, Manuel, and Oteros all looked drunk. They had gone to the back of the saloon and helped themselves to some liquor in Patrick O'Brien's storeroom. Each of them had drunk a bottle.
'The way to think about Hardin is that he's crazy,' Mox Mox said. 'Having him alive is like having another weapon. He might kill anybody, at any time. If Call wandered in here, Hardin might kill him for us. Or, he might kill Goodnight.' 'I thought you wanted to kill Goodnight yourself,' Jimmy said.
'I'd like to, but if Wesley Hardin happens to kill him first, I wouldn't shit my pants.' 'I thought you wanted to do it yourself,' Jimmy repeated.
Mox Mox took his horse and walked off.
He led his horse behind the saloon and helped himself to two bottles of Patrick O'Brien's whiskey. Patrick came out while he was doing it, and held out his hand.
'That's six bottles you owe me for,' he said.
