“This place will do for now,” said Bird. “There is money to be made here.”
Two men fell out of a set of swinging doors to Bird’s left. They were deep in a struggle, pounding one another with drunken swings. Mary startled, but was out of harm’s way.
A crowd of men soon followed them from inside, keeping a distance but egging them on.
“He meant it,” said one of the men. “Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”
“He’s been saying as much for days now,” said another.
They were laughing for the most part, making sport of these men.
Bird approached. He withdrew a pistol, but only to more laughter from the men.
“This broken boy has come to set you apart,” said one of the men on the bar’s stoop.
The two fighters paid no mind to any of it. One of the men was finally able to gain an upper hand. He was able to straddle the other man and pin him down. He pounded into his face and neck without discrimination. He was smiling. Bird announced himself with a shot, but neither of the men paid him any mind. A few of the men on the stoop whooped or yipped. It all seemed fairly ordinary. Mary withdrew. She did not like to see violence or feel the approach of violence, and this was too much of both. She entered the building across from the bar, a post office that was seeing little action. A clerk sat behind the counter, busy with some writing. He lowered his pen to greet her, but Mary kept her back to him. Her gaze was at the window, in spite of herself.
“Which of these men is the richer man?” said Bird.
Neither of the brawlers took any notice. The one who had been straddling the other was losing his position. The other man had managed to get ahold of his throat and was drawing him steadily toward the mud.
“That would be him,” said one of the men from the porch. He gestured to the man losing his grip, as the other rose up from the ground to gain control of the fight. “But I would stay out of it.”
Bird approached the two fighters and stuck his pistol to the ear of the man who was now atop the other. The other man’s face was pressed into the mud and he was struggling for air.
“Let him raise his head,” said Bird.
The other man’s hand came reluctantly from the back of his opponent’s head.
“You, in the mud,” said Bird. “Will you have me end this?”
The man in the mud nodded.
The other man eyed Bird at a slant.
“You will pay me five hundred for the task and provide a room for me and my wife.”
The man in the mud nodded again.
The other man began to turn, but Bird fired and startled the street. Most of the men and women nearby flinched or ducked, and the man straddling the other man fell into the mud and did not move again.
Bird helped the other man up.
“I had him,” explained the man. “You only expedited things.”
“Yes sir,” said Bird.
“It’s only worth two hundred.”
“That was not the arrangement.”
“Two hundred and a bed and a bath for you and your wife,” said the man.
“You’ve got a horse?” said Bird.
“A mule,” said the man.
“I’ll take the mule then,” said Bird.
“I like a reasonable man. My name is Ramon.”
“Bird,” said Bird.
“Where is your wife?”
“Hiding in the post office.”
Ramon glanced to the window and waved. Mary did not answer.
“Can I help you, miss?” said the postal clerk. Mary turned finally to explain that she was merely hiding there and there were no services needed.
“You’re thinner than a rail,” said the clerk.
“I have been on foot for some time,” said Mary, “and eating little before it.”
“I can get you a square meal for next to nothing,” said the clerk.
“I have less than that,” said Mary.
“On the house then,” said the clerk. “My treat. We will eat and you can tell me how you wound up here. You can talk to my wife.”
The postal clerk led Mary through the back of the post office and out a door that led into an alley. Across the alley was a small shack with smoke bellowing from its chimney. Inside, there was a table, two beds, three chairs, and a window. In front of the stove was a woman named Gretta. She was the clerk’s wife. She had a heavy accent that made it hard for Mary to follow everything she said. But Gretta was very patient with Mary, and did not mind repeating herself.
“What is your name?” said Gretta.
“Isabella,” said Mary.
“That is a pretty name,” said Gretta.
“I like it very much, thank you,” said Mary.
“Where is your family?” said Gretta.
“Pardon?” said Mary. She was slurping the stew they’d prepared: beef, potatoes, carrots, and peas.
“Your family,” said Gretta. “Where are they?”
“Oh,” said Mary. “I haven’t got a family. I came here with a boy, but we are not related.”
“Where is he?”
“He is finding work as a gunfighter, ma’am.”
“Oh my,” said Gretta.
“It is a foolish pursuit. He cannot shoot and has but one arm.”
“He has something to prove then,” said Gretta.
“You are correct,” said Mary. “I’d like to talk about something else now. I’ve been with that boy for too long and I’m losing track of what it was I enjoyed besides.”
“Where were you raised?”
“On a ranch some distance from here,” said Mary.
“Where are your parents?”
“You’re hounding the girl,” said the clerk. “Let her eat.”
“Father is dead and Mar — … Mother is in the wilderness,” she said.
“In the wild?” said Gretta.
“Pardon?”
“Where is your mother?” said Gretta.
“In the wilderness,” said Mary.
“Why?”
“Gretta, please,” said the man.
“She is hunting down a man who murdered half a town.”
“Which town?”
“I do not know.”
“Your mother is hunting down a killer?”
“She is very strong and brave,” explained Mary.
“She must be a special woman,” said Gretta.
“She is,” said Mary.
“I’m finished,” said the clerk.
“Then take your sleep,” said Gretta. “I am talking with the girl.”
“Why doesn’t she like me?” said Ramon. He and Bird had made their way back into the bar and Ramon was ordering them drink after drink.
“Who?” said Bird.
“Your wife.”
“She does not like many people,” said Bird. “She’s a contrary bull.”
“Do you like working with a gun?” said Ramon.
“It’s why I’m here,” said Bird. “I would like to become a marshal, or a bounty hunter. I would like to head out and meet evil head on.”
“A committed man,” said Ramon.
Bird nodded.
“A dedicated man,” said Ramon. “Here is to dedicated men.” He raised his glass.
Bird did as Ramon did. They drank, and Bird coughed. These were his first tastes of liquor. He felt sick and then warm and then sick.
“You are not a drinker,” said Ramon.
Bird shook his head.
“But you are a gunfighter.”
Bird nodded.
“A one-armed gunfighter,” said Ramon.
Bird withdrew his pistol with a clap then set it back behind his belt. One man startled, but the rest in the bar began to laugh. Ramon clapped Bird on the back.
“Brave boy,” said Ramon. “You are in the lion’s den. But we are friends. Here is your money.”
He handed Bird a small pouch of coins.
“There is more than that too to be made,” said Ramon. “We like each other, no? You are getting to like me?”
Bird nodded. He opened the pouch and counted the silver. It was two hundred even.