“New in town?”
Preacher took a sip of the beer, which was good, and nodded. “That’s right.”
“Then you probably don’t know that Dupree’s caters to a higher class of customer than you. You can finish your drink, then you’d better be moving along.”
Preacher felt a surge of anger but didn’t show it. He didn’t like people who put on airs, even bartenders. But unlike at Jessie’s Place, where he had deliberately taken offense, he played this hand differently.
“Sorry, mister,” he said. “Didn’t mean to butt in where my kind ain’t welcome.”
The bartender got a look of magnanimous superiorty on his florid face and said, “That’s all right. You didn’t know any better. Anyway, your money spends as well as anybody else’s, I reckon.”
“Like his over there?” Preacher asked, inclining his head toward the table where Shad Beaumont sat with the blonde. They were sharing a bottle of brandy. No buckets of beer for them.
The bartender laughed. “No, Mr. Beaumont’s money is better than anybody else’s around here. Or rather, I reckon you could say that it’s no good in Dupree’s.”
“You mean he don’t have to pay for anything just ’cause he’s some fancy swell?”
“I mean drink up and get out of here,” the bartender said, his face and voice hardening. “What Mr. Beaumont pays for or don’t pay for is none of your damn business.”
“No, sir, it’s sure not,” Preacher said quickly. He lifted the cup to his lips and drank some more of the beer.
That was more than enough confirmation. He was certain now of Beaumont’s identity and had gotten a good enough look at him in here that he knew he would recognize Beaumont the next time he saw the man. He would be able to describe Beaumont and his carriage to Uncle Dan, too, which was important to the plan.
“Is it always this crowded in here?” he asked the bartender, trying to sound idly curious.
“Dupree’s is the best place in town,” the man replied, pride in his voice.
“Does that fella Beaumont come in here every night?”
“I know, I know,” Preacher said. “None of my business.”
“That’s right. You gonna finish that beer?”
Preacher drained the last of the liquid from the cup and set the empty back on the bar. “Much obliged,” he said again.
“From now on, do your drinking in the taverns down along the waterfront, with the river men and the rest of the farm boys who’ve come west looking for adventure.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll sure do that.”
Preacher practically had to force the words out, when what he really wanted to do with ram that smug smile down the bartender’s throat with a knobby-knuckled fist.
But that would be jumping the gun. Maybe he’d have a chance to teach the fella a lesson later.
He’d be coming back to Dupree’s.
When he was ready.
That thought was going through his head as he turned to walk out of the saloon. His gaze roved briefly over the room and then stopped suddenly when he spotted a familiar face at one of the poker tables. The gambler called Cleve was dealing a hand. Preacher wasn’t particularly surprised to see him. The man obviously had a taste for the finer things in life. He patronized the best whorehouse in St. Louis, so there was no reason he wouldn’t do his gambling and drinking in the best saloon, too.
Cleve glanced up, and for a second his eyes locked with Preacher’s. Then Preacher continued walking out.
He hoped this wasn’t going to be an added complication. He had enough on his plate just figuring out what he was going to do about Shad Beaumont.
Horse was tied at the hitch rail. Preacher untied the reins and swung up into the saddle. He rode out of St. Louis, on his way to meet Uncle Dan.
The old-timer was camped about a mile west of the city. He and Preacher had agreed on the general area where they would meet, so Preacher just rode along in the darkness until he heard an owl hoot. The sound came from the deep shadows within a grove of trees. He reined in and returned the call. A moment later, Uncle Dan stepped out from under the trees and waved Preacher on into camp.
As Preacher dismounted, Uncle Dan asked, “Anybody follow you out here?”
Preacher chuckled.
“Well, it could’a happened, I reckon,” Uncle Dan went on. “You ain’t got eyes in the back o’ your head.”
“No, but I’ve got ears, and so does Horse. I trust him even more than I do my own self. Nobody followed us.”
“I didn’t figure they would. You find Beaumont?”
“I did. Got any hot coffee left?”
“I been keepin’ it warm for you. Sit down.”
Preacher sat on a log while Uncle Dan picked up the coffeepot from a small fire that had sunk down to little more than glowing embers. The old-timer had piled rocks around the fire so that not even that faint glow could be seen unless a person was within a few feet of it. He poured coffee in a cup and handed it to Preacher.
