said, not surprised that the first thing they received at the Jersey Lily Saloon was a bill of several years' standing.
'Put it in your ledger, Brookshire,' Call said. 'I'm sure your Colonel will be glad to contribute a nickel to the man who kept our tracker healthy.' Brookshire had lost interest in the ledger, and had not kept it current, although they had made substantial purchases in Presidio. He had, on one or two occasions, even torn pages out of it and used them to help get the campfires started. Somewhere along the Rio Concho, he had stopped feeling that he lived in a world where ledgers mattered. Colonel Terry still belonged to that world, and would always belong to it. The Colonel, like the old judge, would be quick to demand his nickel, even his penny.
But Brookshire had passed beyond the world of ledgers, into a world of space and wind, of icy nights and brilliant stars, of men who killed with bullets and men who burned dogs. In order to keep his accounts at night, Brookshire would usually have had to thaw out the ink, and then thaw out his fingers sufficiently to be able to write. It was hard to see the lines on a ledger by the light of a small campfire, and it was hard to be correct in one's penmanship when one's fingers were frozen.
The Colonel was a stickler for good penmanship, too. He didn't like to squint or puzzle over entries when he was examining a ledger, and he had said so many times.
Now, looking back into Mexico from the front of Judge Bean's saloon, the Colonel's strictures no longer seemed to matter.
Brookshire had other disciplines to concern himself with, such as making campfires that would last the night without wasting wood. Captain Call was as strict about campfires as the Colonel was about penmanship.
'Are you expecting a war party?' Call asked the judge. 'You seem to be thoroughly armed.' 'I expect perdition, always have,' the judge replied. 'I keep this building at my back, and several guns handy, in case perdition arrives in a form that's susceptible to bullets. I expect it will come in the disease form, though. I'm susceptible to diseases, and you can't shoot a goddamn disease.' 'If this is still a saloon, we'd like whiskey,' Call said. 'We've had a cool ride.' They had scarcely left the canyon before another norther had sung in behind them. The cold cut them badly, although they rode with their backs to the wind.
The judge reluctantly took them inside the saloon. Once settled warmly into his buffalo robe, he hated to be disturbed. Most conversations, even in the coldest weather, were conducted outside, with him speaking from inside his robe.
The saloon had only one table, and it was so tilted on its crooked legs that a drink placed on the uphill side would quickly slide to the downhill side and off onto the floor, unless the drinker kept a grip on his glass.
Call bought whiskey for everyone; only Pea Eye refrained. Lorena was very severe with him, in the matter of drink. In his lonely cowboy days in Montana, he had taken to drinking for an hour or two every evening. Once married, he continued the practice for a while, from nervousness, but Lorena soon put her foot down. Since the day she had put her foot down, Pea Eye had very few drinks, norther or no norther. He did take a beer, though. Fortunately, Judge Bean had a few. Famous Shoes requested tequila--the judge also had plenty of that substance-- and drank almost a pint, as if he were drinking water.
Deputy Plunkert fell asleep just as the judge was refilling his whiskey glass. It promptly slid toward the edge of the table, but the judge himself caught it at the last minute.
'I'll pour this back in the bottle until your man wakes up,' Roy Bean said.
The judge had quick, crafty eyes. Rumor had always placed him on the wrong side of the law.
Call had not been the only one surprised when Roy Bean assumed his judgeship. To be fair, though, no one seemed to quite know what laws the new judge had broken. Some thought he smuggled gold for powerful Mexicans; others thought he stole gold from the same Mexicans.
Call thought the gold rumors were probably exaggerations. For one thing, Roy Bean lived a long way from anyplace where gold could be used or deposited, and gold was heavy. To Call, Roy Bean had more the manner of a skillful gambler.
Becoming a judge, in a region where few people had much fondness for the law, was in itself a gamble.
'I hope you catch the Garza boy next week,' Roy Bean said. 'This week wouldn't be too soon, neither.' 'I'll catch him, but I doubt it will be this week,' Call said. 'The last train he robbed was near San Angelo, and I imagine he kept traveling. We'll have to see if Famous Shoes can pick up his track.' 'There are very few competent marksmen in this part of the country,' Roy Bean said. 'This boy is a competent marksman and he's affecting my profits.
'The truth is, my profits are way down,' he added, glumly.
'Oh, how's that?' Call asked.
'The Garza boy shoots people who might come here and drink,' the judge replied. 'There's other problems, too. I used to be able to sit outside and concentrate on business matters, without having to worry that somebody a mile away on a hill might plug me while I'm concentrating.' 'There's no hill within a mile of you, and half a mile would be a more likely distance for a rifle shot, anyway,' Call said. 'No rifle I've ever seen will shoot accurately much farther than half a mile.' 'Yes, but you ain't a competent marksman yourself, and you don't know everything!' Roy Bean said sharply. 'Charlie Goodnight has always thought he knew everything, and so did your damn partner, and so do you.' 'Well, I've known a few fine shots,' Call replied, mildly. 'I've never known you to worry about killers, before. There are safer places to live than along this border if you're the sort to let killers disturb your naps.' 'I have weathered a number of killers, but I resent Mexican boys with rifles that can shoot that far,' Roy Bean said. 'If you catch him for me, I'll hang him in a wink.' 'That boy ain't the only reason you ought to start napping indoors, with your door locked,' Call said. 'Have you heard of Mox Mox?' 'Yes, Wes Hardin said he was around,' Roy Bean said. 'Who's he singed now?' 'Ben Lily's best dog,' Call replied.
'Not Flop,' Roy Bean said, visibly startled. 'Why would the sonofabitch burn a dog?' 'Why would he burn a person?' Call asked. 'Because he likes to, that's why.' 'Did he get Ben?' the judge asked.
'No, but they killed every dog he had,' Call said. 'I'm thinking of going after him first, before he causes any more harm.' 'Go get him,' Roy Bean said. 'Leave these men here. They look like they need to thaw out. I'll cut the whiskey to half price while they're visiting with me.' Guarding you, you mean, Call thought, but he didn't say it.
'Mox Mox has seven men with him,' Call remarked.
'Hardin says the Cherokee boy is the only one with any fight,' Roy Bean said. 'Take a slow aim and eliminate him first. That would be my advice.' 'Quick Jimmy,' Famous Shoes said.
'Yes, Hardin said he had a rapid way about him,' Roy Bean said.
