“Yes, sir?”
“When Brute comes out of it, advise him I said to leave Mr. DeBeers alone. Tell him he may practice his sickening perversions on the slaves, but not on paying guests.”
“Yes, sir.”
He once more looked at Smoke. “Breakfast at my house. Eight o’clock in the morning. Be there.”
“Yes, sir,” Smoke replied, and did not add the “Majesty” bit.
“Does this place offend your delicate sensibilities, Mr. DeBeers?” Davidson asked.
“Since you inquired, yes, it does.”
It was after breakfast, and Davidson was posing for the first of many drawings.
“Why, Mr. DeBeers?” For some reason, Davidson had dropped the “Jester” bit.
“Because of the barbarous way those unfortunate people at the edge of town are treated. That’s the main reason.”
“I see. Interesting. But in England, Mr. DeBeers, drawing and quartering people in public was only stopped a few years ago. And is not England supposed to be the bastion of civilized law and order…more or less?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Well, this is still a young country, so it’s going to take us a while to catch up.”
What an idiotic rationalization, Smoke thought. Louis Longmont would be appalled. “Yes, sir, I suppose you’re right.”
“Don’t pander to me, Mr. DeBeers. You most certainly do not think I am right.”
“But when I do speak my mind, I get slapped or struck down.”
“Only in public, Mr. DeBeers. When we are alone, you may speak your mind.”
“Thank you, sir. In that case, I find this entire community the most appalling nest of human filth I have ever had the misfortune to encounter!”
Davidson threw back his head and laughed. “Of course, you do! But after a time, one becomes accustomed to it. You’ll see.”
“I don’t plan on staying that long, sir.” Smoke looked at King Rex, checking for any signs of annoyance. He could see none.
Instead, the man only smiled. “Why would you want to leave here?”
Smoke stopped sketching for a moment, to see if the man was really serious. He was. “To continue on with my journey, sir. To visit and sketch the West.”
“Ah! But you have some of the most beautiful scenery in the world right around you. Plus many of the most famous outlaws and gunfighters in the West. You could spend a lifetime here and not sketch it all, could you not?”
“That is true, but two of the people I want to meet and sketch are not here.”
“Oh? And who might those be?”
“The mountain man, Preacher, and the gunfighter, Smoke Jensen.”
The only sign of emotion from the man was a nervous tic under his right eye. “Then you should wait here, Mr. DeBeers, for I believe Jensen is on his way.”
“Oh, really, sir! Then I certainly shall wait. Oh, I’m so excited.”
“Control yourself, Shirley.”
“Oh, yes, sir. Sorry. Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Getting back to this place…The west, from what I have been able to see, is changing almost daily. Settling. Surely this town is known for what it really is?”
Davidson met his eyes. “So?”
“Do you think this will go on forever and ever? As the town becomes known outside of this immediate area, the citizens will eventually grow weary of it and demand that the Army storm the place.”
“Ummm. Yes, you’re probably right. And I have given that much thought of late. But, young man,”—he smiled and held up a finger, breaking his pose—“this town has been here for twenty years and still going. How do you account for that?”
“Well, when you first came here, I suppose there were no others towns nearby. Now all that has changed. Civilization is all around you and closing in. That, sir, is why I wanted to come west now, before the wild West is finally tamed.”
“Ummm. Well, you are a thinking man, Mr. DeBeers, and I like that. There is so little intellectual stimulation to be found around here.” He abruptly stood up. “I am weary of posing.” He walked around to look at the sketch. “Good. Very good. Excellent, as a matter of fact. I thought it would be. I have arranged for you to take your meals at the Bon Ton Cafe. I will want at least a hundred of your sketches of me. Some with an outside setting. When that is done, to my satisfaction, then you may leave. Good day, Mr. DeBeers.”
Gathering up his pencils and sketch pads, Smoke left the house, which was situated on a flat that sat slightly above the town, allowing Rex a commanding view. As he walked back to his tent, Smoke pondered his situation. Surely, Rex Davidson was insane; but if he was, would that not make all the others in this place mad as well?
