Savagery of The Mountain Man

“What ain’t good?” Cole asked.

“That’s Mr. Cates’ table them two boys took. And Mr. Cates, he don’t like nobody else sittin’ at it.”

Cole turned to look toward the two young men.

Shortly after they sat down, both Ken and Jerry noticed that the hum of normal conversation had ended and it grew quiet in the saloon. And the sudden quiet did not seem to be a mere coincidence, as it soon became evident that everyone in the house was looking directly at their table.

“Hey, you,” Ken called toward Cole. “What is it you are a-lookin’ at?”

“How do you know he’s even a-lookin’ at us?” Jerry asked with a mocking laugh. “Hell, one of his eyes looks one way and the other looks another. I’ll bet he don’t even know his ownself what he’s lookin’ at.”

Cole turned away from the two.

“Oh, now,” Ken said. “You done gone an’ hurt his feelin’s.”

Jerry laughed, then looked around the saloon and saw that nearly everyone in the room was looking at them.

“What the hell are all you people a-lookin’ at?” Jerry asked.

“Maybe they heard of us,” Ken replied. “This here wasn’t the first job we’ve pulled. Could be we’re gettin’ to be famous.”

Jerry laughed. “Yeah, that’s prob’ly it.” He held up his hand as a signal to the bartender.

“Barkeep,” he called to the bartender. “How about a couple of beers over here?”

“And I’ll have the same,” Ken added, laughing at the joke.

The bartender ignored the request.

“Hey, what the hell? Don’t you want our business?” Trey asked.

“Not until you two galoots change tables, I don’t,” the bartender replied.

“Change tables? What do you mean, change tables? This here is the table we want.”

“It ain’t goin’ to be the table you want when he comes in,” the bartender said.

“When who comes in?”

“When he comes in,” the bartender replied without specifics.

“Don’t be a fool, mister,” Jerry said. “If you know’d who it was you was talkin’ to, you wouldn’t be talkin’ like that. Me and my friend here have kilt men for less than that. Now, if you don’t want to make us mad, and believe me, barkeep, that ain’t somethin’ you want to do, you’ll bring us them beers like we asked.”

Before the bartender could respond, another patron pushed his way through the batwing doors of the saloon. He wasn’t a very big man—in fact, he was quite small, no taller than five feet two inches, and weighing no more than 130 pounds. He was dressed in black, except for a tooled-leather pistol belt that bristled with filled cartridge loops. His eyes were small and dark, so dark that there was no delineation between the iris and pupils. He also wore a neatly trimmed mustache. He took a couple of steps toward the table, then stopped when he saw that it was occupied. He looked toward the bartender.

“It ain’t my fault. I told ’em I wasn’t goin’ to serve ’em as long as they was sittin’ at your table,” the bartender said.

The small man’s tongue darted out a couple of times before he spoke. “I would invite you gentlemen to find another table,” the small man said. His voice was a quiet hiss.

“What’s that you say? Damn, mister, are you so little you ain’t got voice enough to speak up?” Ken held his hand to his ear. “You sound like a mouse pissing on a ball of cotton. How the hell is anyone s’posed to hear you?”

Ken laughed at his joke.

Jerry looked over at Ken. “Do you know what I think this little pissant just said? I think he invited us to find another table.”

“Is that a fact? Well, we was here first, mister,” Ken said. “So we invite you to find another table. Unless you want us to mop up the floor with your skinny little ass.”

The small man smiled. “So, are you telling me you are willing to fight for that table?”

Jerry and Ken looked at each other, then broke out laughing. “You want to throw this litter feller out, or shall I?” Jerry asked.

“Oh, I don’t believe in physical violence,” the little man said. “That never settles anything.”

“Ha! He don’t believe in physical violence,” Ken said. He looked back at the little man. “This ball has started. So either we finish this now, or you can just go get yourself another table and mind your own business.”

“Oh, we are going to finish it,” the little man said.

“We are, are we?” Ken chuckled and shook his head. “I tell you what, mister, since you are hell-bent on doing this, you can choose whichever one of us you want to fight.”

“I intend to fight both of you.”

“Both of us?”

“At the same time. Only, let’s make it permanent.”

“What do you mean by, ‘let’s make it permanent’?”