Turley didn’t answer, because he had no idea what the answer should be.
“I shall consider all my options,” Houser said, though he was speaking more to himself than he was to his foreman.
Santa Fe, New Mexico
The man standing at the far end of the bar was, perhaps, the most unprepossessing figure in the saloon. He was smaller than the average man, his trousers, shirt, and low-crown hat were all faded and indistinct, not broken by any color. He had very dark eyes, set rather deeply under shaggy eyebrows. His face was narrow, and his nose resembled the beak of a hawk. He was standing by himself, staring into a mug of beer that had sat before him, undisturbed for over a minute.
At the opposite end of the bar stood two cowboys wearing blue denim trousers and wide-brimmed hats. They differed in appearance only in their shirts. Tanner wore yellow, Cole wore white.
“Hey, you!” Cole called to the man who was staring into his beer mug. “What you expectin’ to find in that glass you’re a-starin’ at? Maybe a catfish, swimmin’ around?”
Tanner laughed. “No, he ain’t lookin’ for no catfish. He’s lookin’ for one o’ them mermaids.”
“What’s a mermaid?”
“It’s half woman ’n half fish. The top half is a naked woman, ’n the bottom half is a fish.”
“If the bottom half is a fish, how do you . . . uh . . . I mean if you was wantin’ to . . . uh.” Cole was unable to form his question.
“Well, it don’t make no nevermind for that ole fool standin’ down at the other end of the bar,” Tanner said. “He’s so ugly he can’t get no woman whether she be half-fish or not. Hell, he likely can’t even get a woman if he pays her for it. He’s the kind we wouldn’t want hangin’ around no calves, if you know what I mean.”
“Ha!” Cole laughed. “Hey, mister, is that true? When you cain’t get no women, do you go out lookin’ for calves?”
During all the provocation put forth by Tanner and Cole, the man at the end of the bar had not moved, but after the latest taunt, he lifted his glass and drained the rest of his beer.
“You have hurt my feelings,” he said without turning toward them. His voice was low, almost like a whisper.
Tanner laughed. “You hear that, Cole? You hurt his feelin’s.”
“I would appreciate an apology,” the man said.
“You want me to apologize?” Cole asked incredulously. “I tell you what, why don’t I just wipe the floor up with your scrawny little ass?”
The man turned, for the first time. “I have a better idea,” he said. He smiled, though there was more evil than humor in his smile. “Why don’t I just kill you?”
“Kill me?” Cole asked. The bravado had faded somewhat, because of the way the man had made the remark. It wasn’t challenging, and he hadn’t raised his voice. It was the low-key, matter-of-fact way he said the words that Cole found disconcerting.
“Mr. Bodine, I’m sure if these boys knowed who you was, why, they would be glad to apologize,” the bartender said. “There’s no need to carry this any further.”
“I done give ’em the chance to apologize,” Bodine said. “Now I’m goin’ to give ’em a chance to back up their words.”
“Bodine?” Cole said, his voice cracking a little. “Did you call him Bodine?”
“I tried to warn you boys,” the bartender said. “This is Lucien Bodine.”
“Cole, back off,” Tanner said. “Back off. My God, you don’t want to go bracing the likes of Lucien Bodine!”
A weak smile spread across Cole’s face, and he stopped, then opened his fists and held his hands, palm out in front of him.
“My friend is right,” he said. “We was just a-funnin’ with you, is all. We didn’t neither one of us mean nothin’ by it. I mean, it ain’t worth either one of us dying over.”
“You don’t understand, do you, cowboy? It ain’t goin’ to be either of us. It’ll just be you,” Bodine said. He looked over at Tanner. “You, too, if you decide to take a hand in this.”
Tanner shook his head. “No, it ain’t goin’ to be Cole, ’n it ain’t goin’ to be me, neither, on account of there ain’t neither one of us going to draw on you,” he said. “I don’t reckon you’ll be a-wantin’ to shoot us in front of these here witnesses. Unless you kill ever’ body so’s they ain’t no witnesses.”
“Look here, cowboy!” one of saloon customers said, suddenly frightened by Tanner’s suggestion that everyone might be killed. “You ’n your friend here is the ones what opened the ball. Don’t you go gettin’ none of us mixed up in it.”
“You’ll draw, all right. You’ll draw first, and these witnesses will say that.”
“They ain’t goin’ to be able to say it, ’cause we ain’t goin’ to draw on you,” Cole said. He looked over at the customer who had spoken out a moment earlier. “You don’t need to worry ’bout us gettin’ you into this, on account of there ain’t goin’ to be nothin’ happenin’ here for you to get into. There ain’t neither one of us goin’ to draw on Lucien Bodine.”
“Oh, I think you will,” Bodine said, calmly, confidently.
“Please, Mr. Bodine, we don’t want any trouble,” Tanner said. “Why don’t you just let us apologize and we’ll go on our way?”
Bodine shook his head, the evil grin spreading. “Uh-uh,” he said. “Like I said, it’s too late for that.”
Cole and Tanner looked at each other, then, in a signal understood only by the two of them, developed over a couple of years and many hours of riding together, they made a ragged, desperate, awkward, and ultimately ineffective grab for their pistols.
So bad were they that Bodine had the luxury of waiting for just a moment to see which of the two offered him the most competition. Deciding it was Cole,
