Albert unhitched the place where the net lapped over, and Big Mouth, looking a lot less full of himself, crawled between it and flopped his naked butt to the ground.
A tall, gangly fella with a nose like a sun-dried cucumber smiled at Big Mouth and said, 'Think you got him strangled yet, Harmon?'
Harmon didn't say a word. He stood up, and stiff as a soldier on parade, he walked off, his white rear end spotted with dirt, the sound of laughter rumbling like little, sharp thunders behind him.
When it turned dark, Albert hit the stage lanterns and got ready for Billy Bob to make his Cure-All talk. But two things happened right off to upset the apple cart. When I slipped behind the curtain to get Billy Bob to tell him it was time, he was gone. Wild Bill was still on the hand truck, and he was at the end of Billy Bobs stoop, his guns still cocked and pointing to where Billy Bob slept. I went over to the head of the stoop and seen there was a dime novel lying there, parted, facedown. I picked it up. It was Texas Jack, Deadwood Pistol Demon, or The Shot That Never Missed. It was one of the few dime books ever written entirely about Jack, though he come up mentioned in a few others.
I seen that the place it was open to was about the time Texas Jack was supposed to have backed down Wild Bill. The story said Jack opened his coat, showed his pistol, said 'Name's Texas Jack,' and stared at Hickok in a menacing manner, which I reckon was what he was doing to Billy Bob.
According to the book, Wild Bill said, 'Jack, I have heard how fast and accurate you are with your revolver, and I confess that I want no quarrel with you,' then Hickok turned and walked off, shaking a little.
Albert stuck his head through the curtain. 'What's going on?' Then he seen there wasn't no Billy Bob.
'He's gone,' I said. 'After Texas Jack, I reckon.'
'Damn.' Albert stepped inside and rubbed his hand over his mouth. 'We got a problem here, Little Buster.'
'Well, Billy Bob does, as that's the real Texas Jack.'
'Look, I can't go in no saloon, Little Buster, and I bet that's where he is.'
Albert eyed me a moment. I sighed.
'You got to go talk him back to the wagon before there's some trouble.'
'He don't listen to me.'
Someone outside yelled, 'There going to be a show or not?'
Albert stuck his head out from behind the blanket and said sweetly, 'We just getting some things ready, any minute now.'
When he pulled back inside he said, 'It can't be helped, Little Buster. You got to talk him back.'
'I don't even like him.'
'I know.'
'Oh, all right. I'll do my best.'
'That's all I'm asking,' Albert said. He picked up four juggling balls, a bottle of Cure-All from the rack, put his smile on, and went out to face the crowd.
I took off the derby I had on and put on my cap. I figured if I got killed I wanted to be wearing my cap and not no damn derby. I slipped out the back of the wagon, moved around to the edge of the stage.
Albert was juggling the balls and the bottle. 'What we got in this here bottle,' he was saying as he juggled, 'is a miracle. That's right, folks, I ain't shy to say it, a miracle. You got piles? Don't answer that. They's women folk in the crowd. You got a belly bothers you when you eat spicy foods? Things just ain't right for you couple times a day, if you know what I mean? Your sight failing you some? We gots what you need right here, the little miracle, our Cure-All.
'Now, I know what you're saying to yourself You're saying ain't no way I can afford a thing like this, a thing that is such a miracle, such a gift of medicine and the angels.
'Well now, it ain't free. I admit it. It does cost you something, but consider this. It fortifies the belly, makes the heart strong, and the list of folks that we have sold this Cure-All to and have come to us satisfied-no, not just satisfied, grateful, that's the word, plumb grateful to the point of crying-is endless. Never an unsatisfied customer.
'Now, I know what you're saying. Why don't he get on with telling us the price? Well, I'm coming to that, ladies and gents, I am. But I got to tell you that there ain't no medicine like this medicine. This will help you keep your youthful vigor and keep all your steps straight and your sight keen. It ain't even bad on taking out stains and using for a wash in your mouth to kill them smells you get from eating.
'And I tell you, ladies and gents, it ain't nothing but two bits a bottle. That's right. Two bits. I know it's hard to believe that something like this, a miracle in a bottle, comes this cheap. But it do. You see, we ain't here just to get your dollar, we're here to see you cured of your ills and made happy, and this here e-lixer is the thing to do it. Two bits, ladies and gents, two bits. Who's first?'
I looked at the crowd, seen he had their attention, went on around behind the wagon, and started up the street.
Thunder rumbled behind me. I turned to look. The sky back there looked dark even for nighttime.
Skinny had seen me, and he had left the crowd and was coming up the street toward me. I waited until he caught up. When he did, he turned and looked back toward the brewing storm, then back at me. He leaned forward, and with the peppermints on his breath overpowering his other smells, he said into my face, 'Things is going to get bad.'
I got a little chill. I thought of that other skinny fella that wasn't right in the head, and I thought of him grabbing Papa by the coat and saying about how the wind was going to blow us away.
I didn't say anything to Skinny, I just nodded, went on over to the saloon, him following like a pet duck.
When we got to the boardwalk Skinny stopped and sat down, his back against the wall, his bag of peppermints between his legs.
I smiled at him.
He took a peppermint out of the sack and began sucking on it.
I took a deep breath and went inside.
Outside you could feel the storm coming, inside you could feel the same thing.
Billy Bob was over to the bar, leaning on it. Riley was putting a beer in front of him and looking around nervous-like.
At the back I seen that Blue Hat and Jack were at their same table. Blue Hat was looking at Billy Bob with a sort of slow burn, Texas Jack was trying to look bored and was sipping a glass of beer.
It was noisy in there, people chattering like squirrels, but it was an edgy kind of noise. I figured them chatterers could feel the tension between Jack and Billy Bob and were gleefully waiting for the first signs of bullets and bloodshed, not considering that a stray load could splatter what little smarts they had against the saloon wall.
While I was standing there, some of the crowd from our show drifted in, and after a quick look around, they joined the rest of the folks at the far left of the saloon and started to talk, never taking their peepers off Jack or Billy Bob.
To make matters worse, Billy Bob had his head turned toward Jack's table, and I'll bet you a chicken to an egg that Jack could feel those eyes on him as if they were two stones sitting on his head.
I made my feet move, went over to Billy Bob, and stood slightly behind him. 'Billy Bob,' I said softly, so he wouldn't think I was some fool sneaking up on him, 'you need to come on back to the wagon. We're up to the Cure-All talk.'
'You and the nigger do it,' he said.
'But you're better at it,' I said.
'I know that,' Billy Bob said, 'but I've come over here because I don't like being insulted, especially when it was a cowardly insult, kind you don't knows happening to you.'
