“Be a dollar and six bits first,” the balding man said, looking nervous.
“That’s a lot of damn money, and it better include another glass of whiskey.”
“All right, sir.”
Smith knew that he was being insulted by being asked to pay before his meal, but the whiskey was taking the edge off his anger and so he let the insult pass.
“Here you go,” he said, digging the money out of his pocket and smacking it down on the table. “I like my steak a little bloody in the middle.”
The man scooped up the money looking very grateful and relieved. The cowboys cleared out as soon as they could without looking like they were being intimidated, which they were. Smith knew that he must have made a pretty rough-looking figure of manhood what with his face and his guns and his dirty clothes. The thing of it was, he wanted to be ornery and crabby so that people wouldn’t start asking him questions.
The trout was delicious and so was the rest of the meal, which seemed to arrive in shifts for about the next half hour. No one else entered the cafe, so it was just Smith and the proprietor, who when he wasn’t bustling food over to Smith’s table busied himself in the kitchen.
The Assassin took his time eating. He was in no hurry and the steak was tasty. When he finished, he enjoyed his second glass of whiskey almost as much as he had the first. The proprietor, it seemed, was a mite anxious to shut the cafe down. He looked like the kind of man who probably had a fat wife and three or four kids. Probably had even been a good cowboy in his younger days.
“How are cattle prices in this country?” The Assassin asked, wanting to start up a little conversation.
“Poor as usual. Ranchers hardly making any money.”
“It’s a tough business.”
“It is,” the proprietor agreed. “But then life is tough, even for the prayerful.”
“Yeah,” Smith said. “You owned this cafe long?”
“Nope.”
“Like the business?”
“It’s a living, barely. I got regulars. I was a cook on the Rocking B Ranch. You know where that is?”
“In this valley?”
“No, down near Taos, New Mexico.”
“Huh,” Smith grunted. “I should have known that because me and Red used to work down that way.”
“Red Skoal?”
“Yeah. I lost track of him, but heard he’d settled in these parts.”
The proprietor brightened a little. “Hell, yes, he did! Red comes in here a couple times a week to take his supper. He likes his steak just the same as you and he’s not afraid of that whiskey either.”
Smith chuckled. “Yeah, he always was quite a fella. I haven’t seen him in … oh, six or seven years.”
“Well, then, you ought to stop by his place.”
“I’m on my way to Santa Fe.”
“Red likes company. He’s got a pretty nice little spread out at the south end of this valley. If you’re aimin’ for Santa Fe, you’ll be riding that way anyhow.”
“Yeah, I guess that I would be,” Smith said as if the idea would never have occurred to him. “Trouble is …”
“What?”
“I’m sort of down and out right now. Haven’t got much money, and my clothes …”
“Aw,” the man scoffed, “you know Red! He’s pretty rough-looking himself and he don’t give a damn about how anybody looks. Why, I heard it told that he once-“
“You think he’d put me up for the night?” Smith interrupted. “I hate to spend the last of my money on a hotel room.”
“Sure he would! Probably give you a job too! He’s already got two or three hands, but they’re mostly all butt- broke cowboys that would rather drink and play cards in his bunkhouse than do any real work.”
“How many cattle does Red own?”
“Oh, maybe five hundred. He’s not a big-time rancher, but he does all right. Always seems to have money, even when cattle prices have gone to hell like they have right now.”
“He must have a rich uncle or something.”
The proprietor came over and drew up a chair. “Don’t tell Red that I said so, but he has some ‘side businesses’ that aren’t exactly legal.”
“Like rustlin’?”
“Oh, hell, no! Every cowboy in South Park knows every cow in South Park as well as he knows his own sister. No, you couldn’t steal a one without everyone knowin’ it. But Red, he likes to ride out and nobody rightly knows what he does, but he comes back with money, Not that I’m saying he’s a thief or anything! Hell, no.”
“Not Red,” Smith agreed. “He’s honest as the day is long.”
“Well,” the man said, “I don’t know about that. Red tells me that he goes off and gambles down in Taos or
