The bartender was squinting at the print of a dime novel, his lips moving as he read. He put his book down and faced Will.
“What’ll it be?”
“A couple of cold beers and a shot of redeye,” Will said. “And give the boys down at the end the same.”
“I can’t serve ya nothin’ ’til I see your money,” the bartender said. “Too many goddamn freeloaders drift through here.”
“Sure,” Will said, and dropped a pair of gold eagles on the scarred and sticky bar. “That do it?”
“Hell, you can buy the dump for that.” The barkeep grinned. “I ain’t seen nothin’ but nickels and pennies for better’n a year now.” He pulled a pair of schooners of beer and set them in front of Will.
“No business?” Will asked.
“No people. A buncha religious nuts decided to build a town here an’ got a pretty good start. Even the L an’ J Coach Line set a stop here. Thing is, there wasn’t no law. The church the loons was buildin’ got burned down, an’ the bidnesses all went to hell, an’ the God folks started pullin’ out when they found they couldn’t grow nothing but scrub an’ rocks, even with the Lord helpin’ ’em.” He drew beers for the fellows down the bar and then came back to Will to fill a double shot glass from an unlabeled bottle. “They was strange folks but harmless ’nuff. They done that speakin’-in-tongues stuff an’ we could hear howlin’ and yellin’ comin’ from their gatherings. Some say they handled snakes, but I never seen that myself, so I dunno.”
“What about the gent at the table? He need a drink?”
“Hell, no. What he needs is a new mind an’ to be run through a sheep dip to kill his stink. I dunno where his money comes from but he buys a bottle every mornin’, goes over there, sets down, an’ commences to drink it. Then he passes out an’ sleeps for the rest of the day. I don’t even know his name, or if he’s got one.”
Will drained the shot glass and coughed as the sensation of a yard of barbed wire being stuffed into his mouth, down his throat, and into his gut struck him. “Damn,” he gasped.
“You git used to it,” the ’tender said.
“I s’pose I could get used to a kick in the eggs,” Will gasped, “but that don’t mean I’d like to try it more’n once.”
The bartender nodded toward the end of the bar. “Them boys has grown right fond of it.”
Will watched as the two downed the whiskey as if it were milk and lit into their beers.
“What brings you to Lord’s Rest?” the bartender asked. “If you’re runnin’ from the law it don’t make no nevermind to me.”
“Hey, fellas,” Will called to the other drinkers, “come on up here so we can talk a bit. Drinks’re on me.” He answered the bartender’s question. “I’m lookin’ for some men—a bunch ridin’ together,” he said.
The pair of boozers moved amazingly fast down the bar to stand next to Will, empty schooners and shot glasses in their hands. Will pointed to the glasses and the bartender complied.
“You?” he asked.
“Beer. No more of that panther piss you call whiskey.”
“ ’Bout these men you’re lookin’ for—you wantin’ to hire them on for a drive or somethin’?” the fellow closest to Will asked.
“No—just lookin’ for ’em, is all.” He sipped his beer. “You boys ever hear of One Dog?”
The bartender’s well-tanned face went ghostly pale. The silence in the saloon was like that of a crypt at midnight. The pair of boozers started toward the batwings, leaving their drinks on the bar.
“Git back here, you two,” Will growled. “I bought drinks an’ I’ll keep on buyin’. All I want is some information.”
“One Dog is somethin’ we don’t talk about,” the ’tender said. “We want to keep our hair.”
The boozers nodded, standing at the bar, not touching their abandoned drinks.
“Here’s the thing,” Will said. “You either talk to me or you don’t. You talk, that’s the end of it. I never saw or heard of you boys or this crummy li’l town. You don’t talk an’ when I find One Dog I let him an’ his gang know I got info from you ’bout where he was.”
The boozers looked at one another for a long moment. Finally, one spoke. “Couple weeks ago One Dog an’ his riders come upon a saddle bum ’bout three, four miles outta town. A kid out rabbit huntin’ found the drifter’s head stuck on a tall shaft pushed into the ground. Other parts of his body was around, too. Poor fella’s nuts was jammed in his mouth.” He downed the whiskey and motioned for another.
“You sure it was One Dog?” Will asked.
“Oh, yeah,” the bartender said. “ ’Cause a couple days later a sodbuster was burned out an’ him an’ his family killed. There ain’t ’nuff rogue Injuns ’round these parts to take down a wooly, much less pull shit like that. The sodbuster, he come in here every so often. Had him a wife an’ seven kids.”
“One Dog was headin’ toward the Rio Grande?”
“I s’pose so.”
“Nobody track them? No posse or nothin’?”
“We got no law here an’ the army don’t bother with us,” the bartender said. “An’ you can bet any bunch trackin’ One Dog is ridin’ into a ambush—an’ after a lot of pain, is gonna be real dead. No two ways about it.”
“Maybe,” Will said. “Buy these boys drinks until one of them eagles is worn out. You keep the other one.” He turned from the bar and then turned back. “Say—anywhere in town a man can get a shave?”
“Jus’ down the street—big buildin’, used to be a cathouse. It’s boarded up, but the door opens. Fella there is a doc—kinda—an’ a barber.”
“Likes his ganja, the doc does. But it’s early ’nuff—he should be OK,” one of the drunks said.
Will walked down to the old cathouse and pushed the door open. A barber’s chair sat in the middle of a small room. The room itself was filled with grayish smoke that smelled a bit like cedar. “Shit,” Will grumbled, and began to go out the door.
“Now hold on there,” a raspy voice called from an adjoining room. “I heard you mumble a profanity when you saw my barber chair—which is manufactured by the finest firm in Chicago, Illinois, and cost a pretty penny—and I think I deserve an explanation.” The speaker stepped into the room with the barber chair. He was of medium height, grossly fat, and quite neatly dressed. He held a meerschaum pipe in his left hand.
“It ain’t your chair I object to,” Will said. “It’s the weed you’re burnin’. Hell, I’m lookin’ for a shave an’ you’re liable to cut my throat.”
“I resent that,” the fat man said. “It’s true that on occasion I may take a few puffs of a plant the good Lord put on earth for my use and the use of those fine and noble people, the Mexicans. But my skills are in no way impaired. Perhaps later in the day wouldn’t be the best time for a shave, but, sir, I’ve barely left my bed.”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t—”
“And, since you’re a new customer to my emporium, I’ll add a hot bath at no price, and provide you with a fine Cuban cigar and a taste of brandy while you wash and soak.” He paused and then added, “If I may say so, sir, you’re looking a mite soiled.”
Will’s beard was driving him nuts with its itching, and the bath sounded awfully good. The cigar and brandy sweetened the offer. “OK,” he said, “you got a deal. But you cut me an’ I’ll shoot you full of holes. Fair ’nuff?”
“Indeed. Take a seat in the chair an’ I’ll get the water boiling. Perhaps a brandy now while you wait?”