“Just a shave,” Smoke answered. “From the sign outside, you would be Max, I take it?”
“Yes, sir, Max Gibbs is the name, and this shop, such as it is, is all mine. And you would be?”
“Smoke Jensen.”
“Smoke Jensen! My, what a privilege it will be to serve you, Mr. Jensen. Yes, sir, I have read about you.” Max stepped back into his shop and invited Smoke in with the motion of his arm. “Please, step inside.”
The barber shop was very small, just barely large enough to accommodate the barber chair and a small, leather covered settee where customers could wait their turn.
“You’ll be wantin’ to wash some of the trail dust off your face, I expect,” Max said. “There’s a wash basin on that table there. Help yourself. That comes with the price of the haircut and shave.”
“Thanks,” Smoke said as he took advantage of the barber’s offer. “How much is a shave?”
“Shave and a haircut is two bits,” the barber answered. “But seein’ as you are just getting’ a shave, it will only be a dime.”
“Tell you what. I only want the shave, but suppose I pay you for both anyway.” Smoke flipped the barber a quarter.
“Thank you, sir! Here, have a seat.”
Smoke took his seat in the single chair.
“You just passing through, are you, Mr. Jensen?” Max picked up a cup and brush and began working up a lather.
“Yes. I came through Gothic a couple days ago. I guess you heard about what happened over there. I’m talking about the bank robbery.”
“Oh, indeed we have heard about it over here. It was in the newspa—” Max stopped in mid-sentence. “Oh, my, the lady who was shot. That was your wife, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“How is she, if I may ask?”
“Thank you for asking. She is much better.”
“Well, thank God for that,” Max said.
“I have,” Smoke replied.
“You know, to those of us over here, that bank robbery and the shooting was particular upsetting, considerin’ the Slater brothers.”
“Slater brothers?”
“Travis and Frank Slater. They used to live here. They was our neighbors, you might say. And now they are riding with Dinkins. I don’t tell you that as a point of pride, by the way. The truth is, them two boys never was no good. They was working for Chance Carter, a rancher just south of town. Mr. Carter had him a fifteen-year-old daughter, prettiest little girl you ever seen. Well, one day Mr. Carter an’ his daughter both turned up dead, and the Slater brothers both turned up missin’.”
“So you are saying that the Slater brothers killed Mr. Carter?” Smoke asked.
“Yes, sir, I reckon I am sayin’ that. Of course, we don’t none of us have no proof or nothin’ like that. But Frank and Travis Slater never was no count a-tall. Mr. Carter turned up dead, and them two no accounts turned up missin’.”
Smoke nodded. This was a good stop. Max had just supplied him with the last names of two people who were with Dinkins.
Max stretched the chair out, used a brush to apply the lather, then a straight razor to shave him. When that was done, he wrapped warm wet towels around Smoke’s face.
Bates had been waiting for just that moment. He walked into the shop. “Plannin’ on stayin’ in our town long?”
Smoke’s face was wrapped in the towels, but not his eyes. “I just stopped in for a shave. And that’s about done, I expect. Wouldn’t you say so, Max?”
“Yes, sir, just another moment to relax your face is all, I would say,” Max replied.
Smoke noticed a twinge of fear in the barber’s voice, but had no idea why.
“Yes, well, here’s the thing, mister,” Bates said. “We got law in this town. And we don’t take to strangers comin’ in and breakin’ the law.”
“Have I broken the law by getting a shave?” Smoke asked.
“It ain’t the shave I’m talkin’ about.”
“I see. And you enforce the law, do you?”
“I do indeed,” Bates said. “Do you see this star? That means I’m a deputy sheriff.”
“Your mama must be real proud,” Smoke said calmly.
Bates blinked a few times at the response. This wasn’t going the way he had planned. “The point is, mister, I am a deputy. And bein’ as I’m a deputy, well, sir, that means I can collect taxes when they’re due. And right now, you owe this here town two dollars in taxes.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s to pay for the protection we give you while you are here in town,” Bates said.
“I’ll protect myself.”
“Mister”—Bates’ voice reflected his growing anger and frustration—“you ain’t payin’ much attention to me, are you? Now I’m goin’ to say it real slow so’s maybe even someone as dumb as you can understand. You owe the city of Elco two dollars, and I aim to collect it.”
“I told you, deputy, I don’t live here, I don’t plan to live here, and I don’t need your protection.”
“Bates, there ain’t no call for you to come in here and be talkin’ to my customer like this,” Max said. “He told you, he’s just passin’ through. Now why don’t you just go away and leave us alone?”
“Stay out of this, Max,” Bates said coldly. “Unless you want to get hurt.”
With Bates’ attention diverted by the barber, Smoke pulled the apron off.
When Bates looked back toward him he saw that Smoke was holding a pistol. “What the hell?” Bates said with a gasp. “You’re pulling a gun on an officer of the law?”
“Maybe you didn’t notice.” Smoke jerked the thumb of his left hand toward his badge. “I’m also an officer of the law, a deputy United States marshal. And like I said, I don’t need your protection.”
“Oh. You should have told me you was a lawman like me. Of course, bein’ as you are a lawman, why, there ain’t no tax due. Sort of a professional courtesy, you might say.”
“I accept your courtesy.” Smoke got out of the chair, put his pistol back in the holster, then turned to reach for his hat, which was on the hat rack in the corner of the little room.
“Marshal, look out!” Max suddenly shouted.
Smoke spun around, drawing his pistol as he did so. He saw Bates standing in the doorway with his own gun drawn.
Seeing Smoke’s rapid reaction to Max’s warning, the expression on Bate’s face changed from one of triumph, to one of shock. He thumbed back the hammer on his pistol, but it was too late. Smoke fired, and the bullet tore through Bates’ heart, leaving a quarter-sized exit hole just beside his left shoulder blade.
Hearing the shot, several people came running toward the barbershop.
Smoke noticed some of the men had stars pinned to their vest or shirt, but he had no idea which one was the sheriff.
“Who did this?” one of the men demanded. From the authoritative tone of his voice, Smoke realized the man had just answered his question.
“I did,” Smoke said.
“Mister, you are under arrest.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean, you don’t think so? Mister, you just killed one of my deputies!”
“Bates drew first, Sheriff Cooper,” Max said. “In fact, he was goin’ to shoot Marshal Jensen in the back.”
“Marshal?” the sheriff asked. “What kind of marshal?”
“I’m a deputy United States marshal.”
“Why would Bates try to shoot you in the back?”
“Bates was tryin’ to make Marshal Smoke Jensen pay him two dollars for tax,” Max said.
The expression on Sheriff Cooper’s face changed dramatically. “Did the barber just call you Smoke Jensen?”
“Yes.”
“Well, uh, Marshal Jensen, I don’t know exactly what sort of scheme Deputy Bates was trying to run, but I assure you, we don’t collect a tax from people who are just passing through our fair city.”