“You don’t have to talk bad about Texas,” Harley said. “All you have to do is mention the name. That’s bad enough.”
“Danny, leave it be,” the other boy said.
“The hell I will,” Danny said. “You don’t want any part of this, Andy, you just stand aside. But I don’t figure on lettin’ this hairless son of a bitch talk bad about Texas and not do nothin’ about it.”
“Tell you what,” Andy said. “Looks to me like we’re just gettin’ off on the wrong foot here. If we’re goin’ to work up here, we can’t be makin’ enemies the first day. Bartender, give our new friend here a beer, on me.”
“Mr. Harley?” the bartender asked uneasily. “Do you want another beer?”
“Not if some Texas trash bought it,” Harley replied.
“What is it with you, mister?” Danny asked angrily. “Here my pard is tryin’ to be real friendly with you, and you’re actin’ like that. You know what? Somebody needs to take you down a notch or two. And I might just be that somebody.”
“Danny, come on, we don’t want no trouble on the first day we are in town, do we?”
Danny continued to stare at the skull face of Harley, but Harley showed no expression of any kind, no anger, fear, or anxiety. Danny was a little surprised how the man could be so confrontational, and yet show no expression. Perhaps with no hair, and his skin drawn so tight across the bones of his face, it might be that the man could not show expression even if he wanted to.
“It’s too late for that, sonny boy,” Harley asked. “You done stepped into it. You got more trouble than you can handle.”
“More than I can handle?” Danny said angrily. “I’ll show you how much I can handle. I’m about to whip you like a rented mule!” He put up his fists.
Harley turned toward the two young men and showed his first expression. He smiled, though it was a smile without mirth.
“You don’t understand, do you, boy?”
“Oh, I understand all right. I understand that I’m going to leave you with a broken nose, black eyes, and a fat lip. As ugly as you are, that can only improve your looks.” Danny laughed at his own joke.
“Uh-uh,” Harley said. “If we’re going to fight, it’s going to be for real.” He stepped away from the bar, flipped his jacket back, exposing a pistol which he wore low, and kicked out, in the way of a gunfighter.
“Mr. Harley, there is no need for this now,” the bartender said. “I’m sure these boys would apologize to you if you asked them for it.”
“Aplogize? Apologize to this ... walking scarecrow? Why the hell should we apologize?” Danny asked.
“Cowboy, don’t you know who this is?” the bartender asked, his voice reflecting his shock. “This is Wes Harley.”
“Wes Harley? Is that name supposed to mean something?” Danny asked.
“Oh, God in heaven, you don’t know do you?” the bartender said.
“Don’t know what?”
“Who Wes Harley is,” the bartender said.
“I expect you’re talkin’ about this skull-faced piece of cow dung here,” Danny said.
“Danny, come on, let’s go,” Andy said. “I don’t have a good feelin’ about this. This ain’t worth one of you dyin’ over.”
“It ain’t goin’ to be one of us, sonny,” Harley said. “It’s goin’ to be the two of you.”
“You’re crazy, mister,” Andy said. “We just come in here for a drink. We’re goin’ to leave now and just pretend none of this happened.”
“It’s too late,” Harley said.
“We ain’t drawin’ on you,” Andy said.
“Oh, I think you will,” Harley said. “The fiddler is already playin’ his tune, the dance has started, and here we are, the three of us, standin’ out on the dance floor.”
“Mister, you are crazy,” Andy said. “We ain’t goin’ to get into no gunfight with you.”
“Yeah, you are,” Harley said, his voice a quiet sigh.
Andy turned to the others in the saloon. “Do you people see what’s going on here? Are you goin’ to let this happen?”
“It ain’t our fight, boy,” one of the others said.
“Danny?” Andy’s voice broke in fear. “We can’t do this.”
“Looks to me like we don’t have no choice,” Danny replied.
Danny started his draw and seeing that, Andy drew as well.
With a smile that made his face look even more skeletal, Harley drew, the gun appearing in his hand as if by magic. Danny was so shocked at the speed of the draw that he hesitated for an instant. Had he not hesitated, he might have had a chance, but Harley got two shots off so fast it sounded as if it were only one. Danny pulled the trigger on his pistol, but the bullet went into the floor. Andy didn’t even get a shot off.
Harley was calmly sipping his whiskey by the time one of the sheriff’s deputies arrived.
“I might have known it would be you,” the deputy said.
