“A Möbius moustache, yeah,” Albert responded, acting as if it had been on the tip of his tongue the whole time.
As if sensing Albert was in over his head, Foy doubled the condescension in his tone. “You know, that sort of moustache is a costly facial accessory.”
“Yeah,” said Albert with false assuredness.
“Well… you’re a sheep farmer.” Foy grinned a grin that made Albert wish cholera upon him.
Fuck it. “You feel good about what you’re doing?” Albert said, taking a step closer to the moustachier.
Foy appeared unbothered. “What am I doing?”
“Stealing a guy’s girlfriend?” Albert could feel his face getting red with both fury and embarrassment. “You able to sleep at night?”
“Hey, Louise dumped you, my friend. It’s not my fault she wanted someone with more to offer. I can give her a lavish home. Warm blankets. Wrapped candies. Can you say the same, Albert? Can you give Louise wrapped candies?”
Albert locked gazes with him for a moment. “Fuck you, man,” he blurted, knowing he’d lost this round and feeling dumb as a mule.
“Yeah, that’s what she’s doing,” Foy shot back, finishing the match. Albert stormed out of the moustachery in defeat, resolving never to return. Not to this establishment, and not to Old Stump. It was time to go.
That evening Edward sat patiently at a corner table in the Old Stump saloon, nursing a beer. He really wasn’t much of a drinker. Drinking, he supposed, was for the unhappy. For those who wished to block out the misery of their lives. Edward felt no such dissatisfaction. He derived great pleasure from his work as a cobbler, he adored his little apartment just above the workshop, and, most of all, he was over the moon with happiness in his blissful relationship with Ruth. He smiled to himself, knowing that in just a few minutes she’d be finished having sex with the pastor’s son upstairs in the brothel, and then she’d come bounding down those steps with a big kiss for her devoted boyfriend. He wanted to be sure he was church-sober for that sweet confection.
As Edward took another baby sip from his mug, he observed Old Stump’s two newcomers entering through the batwing doors and making their way over to the bar. Anna and Lewis Barnes, they were called. New faces were always welcome as far as Edward was concerned, the continued growth of the town being of great value and importance to everyone.
At last, Ruth came hurrying down the stairs and made her way over to Edward’s table. She looked disheveled and unkempt, but Edward saw none of it. He saw only what he always saw: the most beautiful woman in the world, and the purest, most magnificent representation of true love that any man could ever hope for. He kissed her eagerly as she sat down.
“Hi, honey!” he said with a warm smile.
“Oh, gosh, that was a long day.” She sighed, sinking into the chair and helping herself to a generous draught of his beer.
“Aw, what happened?”
“This guy wanted me to smoke a cigar and ash on his balls while I jerked him off.”
“Really? Wow, see, your job is interesting ’cause no two days are alike,” he said with envy. “I go to work and I’m, like, grrr! Monotony!”
“Yeah, I guess it’d be worse if I was at a desk all day,” she agreed. “That’s why I love you, sweetie. You can always find the silver lining in everything.”
“I love you too,” he said, taking her hand. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment. “Ruth, honey, I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?”
“Well… you know how much we love each other.”
“With all our hearts,” she said sweetly, kissing his fingers.
“And we’ve been together a long time, and… well… what do you think about… us spending the night together?”
Ruth looked thunderstruck. “You mean… sharing a bed?”
“Yes.”
“And… having sex?”
“Well, I mean, not right away. We could just lie together the first few times, see how it feels, and then go from there.”
“Eddie,” she said, her tone suddenly quite serious, “we’re Christians.”
“I know we are. And I want to do the correct thing in the eyes of the Lord, but if we really love each other, then wouldn’t God be okay with it?”
“Honey, I don’t know—you’re talking about premarital relations,” she said, glancing away as she processed the enormity of what he was proposing.
As she turned, he noticed a small dollop of semen trickling down her left cheek. “Oop, you got a little somethin’ there,” he said, taking out his handkerchief and dabbing gently at the milky fluid.
“Thanks.” She smiled. “But, Eddie, I… God, I’m not sure it’d be right.”
“Okay. I understand. But maybe think about it?”
Before she could answer, Albert came barreling over to the table and sat down with a defeated expression.
“I’m out,” he declared.
“Huh?” said Edward.
“I’m out. I’m gone. I’m getting outta here, and I’m going to San Francisco.”
“What?” Ruth looked at him with concern.
“Yeah, I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“Whoa, whoa, Al… are you serious?” Edward asked with a furrowed brow. “Is this because of Louise?”
“Yes, I’m fucking serious. There’s nothing but shit for me here, and I’m out. I hate the frontier, I hate everything in it, I’m done.”
And then all hell broke loose.
It started over at the bar, where rat-faced Lewis had ordered a shot of whiskey. As he lifted the glass to his lips, a young cowboy standing directly behind him threw his head back and let out a bellowing guffaw, presumably over some joke told by one of his cohorts. The back of his head knocked against Lewis’s. Not hard, but just enough to send the drink spilling out of the glass and all over Lewis’ shirt. The young cowboy, obviously already inebriated, whirled around with a bellicose glare.
“Hey, watch it, pal!” he barked, exhaling smoke from his cigarette directly into Lewis’s face.
Lewis did not flinch. “I think you owe me a drink, fella.”
The cowboy laughed derisively. “Like hell I do. You best watch where you stand.”
Lewis moved an inch closer. He was slightly smaller than the other man but somehow appeared far more threatening. “I don’t think you heard me,” he said softly. “I’m thirsty.”
“Well, then, go down to the river and take a dunk.”
Lewis narrowed his eyes. “Last chance, kid.”
The young cowboy regarded him for a beat, appearing to register the severity in Lewis’s gaze. He picked up an empty shot glass, poured a fresh shot of whiskey, and handed it politely to Lewis. Lewis accepted it graciously, even hoisting the glass a bit in apparent acknowledgment of the peace offering. Then, as Lewis lifted the whiskey to his lips, the young cowboy grinned widely and dropped his lit cigarette into the glass.
Lewis looked down at the gray ash floating in the amber fluid, promptly drew his gun, and fired. The young cowboy was dead in seconds.
His friends wasted no time. One of the other men grabbed the nearest bottle off the bar and smashed it across Lewis’s head. Blood streamed from his face as he tore furiously at the shards of glass jutting out of his ruined flesh.
“That was my bottle, you son of a bitch!” somebody shouted, and in an instant, the entire saloon erupted like a volcano. Dirty, sweaty, drunk men began to indiscriminately swing roundhouse punches at one another, breaking chairs, glasses, bottles, and anything else they could get their hands on.
“Oh, shit!” Albert cried, bolting to his feet. “Why the fuck does this always have to happen?! Two guys get in a fight and then suddenly we all have to start fighting!”
“C’mon, hurry, get in position!” Edward exclaimed as he grabbed Albert and pulled him into the corner. They fell into it, as they had countless times before: an animated flurry of pretend punches thrown furiously at each other, while being very careful never to make contact. The idea was that, as long as they appeared to be brawling along with everyone else, neither one of them would make an easy target for any genuine violence.