“Yeah,” Monroe said. “I’m for that. Let’s get somethin’ to eat and drink.”
By now everyone had dismounted but Ponci.
“What the hell, Ponci? You plannin’ on just sittin’ there on your horse the live-long day? Or are you comin’ in with the rest of us?” Fargo asked.
“I can’t get down from my horse,” Ponci replied weakly.
“Well, if that ain’t the shits. All right, a couple of you help him down.”
Casey and Monroe helped Ponci down. When the five men went into the saloon, Ponci managed to walk under his own power, but with a severe limp.
The saloon was only about one-third full, and most of the men who were present were standing at the bar. Fargo led his group to a table toward the back of the room.
“Barkeep, whiskey,” Fargo called.
“If you gentlemen will step up to the bar, I’ll be glad to serve you,” the barkeeper replied.
“Nah, we want to be served here.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m the only one working right now and I can’t leave the bar.”
Fargo held up a twenty-dollar bill. “Will this get you over here?” he asked.
The bartender smiled broadly. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I do believe that will.”
The bartender walked over to the table to take their order.
“Whiskey all around,” Fargo said. “You got ’ny food in this place?”
The bartender looked over at the clock. “Consuelo is our cook, but she don’t come in until five o’clock,” he said.
“Go get her. Tell her to come now.”
“I ... I can’t leave the saloon now.”
“You!” Fargo said, pointing to someone who was standing at the bar. “Do you know this woman Consuelo?”
“Yeah, I know her.”
“I’ll give you five dollars to go get her.”
“Give me the five dollars.”
“How do I know you won’t take the money and not come back?”
“What if I bring her and you don’t pay me?”
“Give me your hat,” Fargo said.
“What?”
“I’ll give you five dollars, you give me your hat. When you bring Consuelo back, I’ll give you your hat back.”
The young man smiled, then took off his hat. “You got yourself a deal,” he said.
A few minutes later, the man returned with Consuelo. When she saw Ponci’s leg, she gasped, then crossed herself.
“What did she say?” Ponci asked.
“She wants to know what we want to eat,” Fargo said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“That ain’t what she said,” Dagen said. He looked at Ponci. “She said you’re dying.”
“What?” Ponci asked, his eyes wide with fear. “I ain’t dyin’, am I? Fargo, am I dyin’?”
“No, you ain’t dyin’.”
“But she said... .”
“Who the hell are you goin’ to listen to?” Fargo asked gruffly. “Your ole pard? Or some Mexican bitch who don’t know her ass from a hole in the ground.” Then, to Consuelo, he said, “Get back in the kitchen and cook some grub for me’n my pards. Lots of it.”
“Look, mister, I don’t know who you are,” the bartender said. “And I don’t care if you are throwing money around here. You don’t talk to my employees that way.”
Fargo whipped his pistol out and pointed it at the bartender. He pulled the hammer back.
“My name is Fargo Ford,” he said. “And I’ll talk to anyone in any way that I please.”
“F-Fargo Ford?” the bartender stammered. The name alone was enough to cause him to start shaking in fear.
Fargo Ford smiled. “I see that you have heard of me.”
“Yes, sir, I’ve heard of you.”
“Good, good. When someone knows who I am, it always makes things go a little easier. Now you tell your cook to get her ass into the kitchen and cook us up some grub like I said. And it better be good grub too. Me’n my friends ain’t et for a day or two.”
