Smith flicked his eyes to Jim and they narrowed in recognition. But he said only, “Howdy, boys. What might your poison be on this day?”
“Beer,” Smoke said. “For both of us.”
Both Smoke and Jim had quickly inspected the heavily armed men sitting at two pulled-together tables near a dirty window at the front of the barroom.
“Hadn’t been up here in a long time,”Jim said after taking a pull from his mug. “I’d forgot how purty this country is. And how chilly the nights get.”
“It do get airish at times,” Smith agreed. “I got fresh venison stew on the stove and my squaw just baked some bread.”
“Sounds good,” Smoke said. “Jim?”
“I could do with a taste. Them cold fish we had for breakfast didn’t nearabouts fill me up.”
Smoke and Jim took their beers to a table across the room from the arsonists and began whispering to each other, knowing that would arouse some suspicion from the men who had torched the farmhouses and barns.
It didn’t take long.
“What are you two a-whisperin’ about over there?” one burly man called across the room.
Smoke looked at him just as the stew and bread was being placed on the table. “None of your damn business.”
The man flushed and started to get up. One of his buddies pulled him back into the chair. “Let it alone, Sonny. They ain’t worth our time.”
“I ain’t so sure about that,” Sonny said, giving Smoke a good once-over. “I seen that face afore.”
“That’s Murtaugh talkin’,” Smith whispered. “Watch your step, Jim. They’re all bad ones.”
“Now the damn barkeep’s whisperin’!” Sonny yelled.
Smith turned and faced him. “It’s my goddamn store, lunkhead. I’ll whisper anytime I take a notion to.”
“Who you callin’ a lunkhead, you old goat?” Sonny hollered.
“You, you big-mouth ninny!” Smith fired back, moving toward the bar. There, he reached behind him and came around with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. He eared back both hammers and pointed it at Sonny. “Now, then, mule-mouth, you got anything else you’d like to say to me?”
Sonny’s complexion, not too good to begin with, lightened appreciably as he looked at the twin barrels of the express gun, pointing straight at him. Those around him took on the expression of a very sad basset hound, knowing that if Smith pulled the triggers, someone would be picking them up with a shovel and a spoon.
“I reckon not,” Sonny finally managed to say.
“Good.” Smith eased down the hammers and laid the shotgun on the bar. “That’s just dandy. Use your mouth to eat and drink, and stop flappin’ that thing at me.”
With a scowl on his ugly face, Sonny turned away, but not before giving Smoke another dirty look.
The stew smelled good and tasted even better. The bread was lavishly buttered, and Smoke and Jim fell to eating.
“Bring us some of that stew,” Murtaugh called.
“Dollar a bowl,” Smith told him.
“A dollar a bowl! Hell, man, that’s plumb unreasonable.”
“Then go hungry.”
“I’ll take another bowl,” Jim said. “That’s fine eatin’.”
“You better see the color of his money afore you dish up anymore grub to him,” Murtaugh said. “He don’t look like he’s very flush to me.”
“You worry about your own self,” Jim verbally fired across the room. “I got money, and I earned it decent.”
“What’d you mean by that?” the arsonist asked.
“Just what I said.”
“You sayin’ I ain’t decent?”
“You said that, not me. Now hush up. I’m tryin’to eat, not jaw with you.”
Murtaugh gave him a dirty look. “Maybe you think you’re hoss enough to shut me up?”
“Just as soon as I finish eatin’, mister.”
“Anybody busts up furniture, they pay for it,” Smith said.
“They started this war of words,” Smoke pointed out. “All we did was come in for a drink and some food.”
“That’s right,” Jim said, spooning stew into his mouth. “Sad state of affairs when a man can’t even eat without havin’ to listen to all sorts of jibber-jabber from lunkheads.”
“Now, I ain’t puttin’ up with no saddle-bum callin’ me a lunkhead!” Murtaugh stood up. He walked across the room. “I better hear some apologies comin’ out of that mouth of yourn, cowboy,” he said to Jim.
Jim grinned up at him. His right hand was holding a spoon, his left hand out of sight.
