“It’s all in the way you drink it,” Meechum explained. “This here is sippin’ whiskey and it can’t be drunk down real fast. What you got to do is, you got to sort of sip it.” He demonstrated.
Philbin took another swallow, following Meechum’s advice to sip it, and this time he, too, managed to keep it down.
“Yeah,” he said, coughing to clear his throat. “Yeah, I guess it ain’t all that bad.”
They were on their second glass each, and the bottle was more than half empty, when another patron stepped into the saloon. He stood just inside the swinging batwing doors for a moment, taking everything in with one comprehensive sweep of his eyes.
“Whoa, get a load of that little dandy over there who just come in to the saloon,” Oliver said, chuckling. “Ain’t he somethin’ now? I bet that little feller wouldn’t dress out more’n seventy-five to eighty pounds. Ninety pounds at the most.”
“I’d be careful makin’ them comments about that little feller iffen I was you,” Meechum said.
“Why, what’s he going to do? Come over here and beat me up?” Oliver asked, laughing again.
“No,” Meechum said. “But he might put a hole between your eyes.”
“What do you mean, he might put a hole between my eyes? What are you talkin’ about?”
“We’re over here,” Meechum called out, and the little man at the door started toward them.
“What the hell you invitin’ him over here for?” Oliver asked, obviously irritated by the invitation.
“Men, I want you to meet Pogue Willis,” Meechum said when Willis joined them.
Oliver had just taken another swallow of his whiskey, and he spat it out in surprise.
“Willis?” he said. “This is Pogue Willis?”
The others laughed at Oliver.
“Damn, Abe, iffen you ain’t man enough to drink that whiskey, maybe you ought not to even try,” Cantrell said, and they all laughed again.
“What do you say we find us a table at the back so we can talk?” Willis said. “Get another glass and bring the bottle.”
Meechum grabbed the bottle and another glass, and they all went to a table at the back of the room.
“I told the boys you had a job for us,” Meechum said.
“Only he didn’t tell us what it was,” Oliver added.
“Does it matter?” Willis asked as he poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“It don’t matter as long as it pays off,” Oliver said. “I just don’t want no more bank jobs like the last one.”
“I told you I sent word callin’ that job off,” Meechum said. “It ain’t my fault if you got greedy and went before you was supposed to.”
“Yeah, well, that one is behind us,” Cantell said, “and there’s no use in palaverin’ over it now. What is this new job, and what do you want us to do?”
“The bank of—” Willis started, but Philbin interrupted him before he could continue.
“Whatever bank this is, I hope you checked out the safe so’s there’s nothin’ like happened before,” Philbin said.
Willis glared at Philbin with such intensity that Philbin had to look away.
“You boys goin’ to let me tell you what this job is about? Or are you goin’ to sit there and prattle on like a bunch of women?” Willis asked, his voice showing his irritation.
“I’m sorry,” Philbin said. “I was just makin’ a comment, is all, given what happened to us the last time we tried to hold up a bank.”
“I am not in the mood to listen to any comments any of you might be wanting to make,” Willis said.
The others were quiet.
“Like I was about to say, the Bank of Phoenix gets a transfer of funds from a bank in Colorado every Friday,” Willis said.
“What is a transfer of funds?” Oliver asked.
“It means the bank in Colorado is sendin’ a lot of money down to the bank here in Phoenix,” Meechum said. “By train,” he added.
“Son of a bitch, you’re talkin’ about robbin’ the train, aren’t you?” Oliver asked.
“No,” Willis said. “We’re goin’ to rob a stagecoach. That’s a lot easier than holdin’ up a train.”
“But I thought you said the money was comin’ by train from Colorado.”
“Yeah, I did. The only thing is, the train don’t run all the way to Phoenix. Closest it comes is Maricopa. Then they put it on a stagecoach.”
“How much money are we talkin’ about?” Cantrell asked.
“From what I hear, they don’t never transfer less that ten thousand dollars. Is that enough money to get you interested?” Willis asked.
Cantrell smiled broadly, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I think ten thousand dollars is enough money to get me interested.”
