Blue Hat turned, holding the pistol loosely by the grip with a thumb and forefinger. He looked at Billy Bob. "I don't want no trouble," he said.
"That's good," Billy Bob said, but he sounded disappointed.
Blue Hat dropped the gun on the bar.
Riley, quick as a snake, sidled up to it, smiled at Billy Bob and said, "I'd like that as a souvenir."
"I was going to ask that," Blue Hat said to Billy Bob. "Jack said you was just a trick shooter, not a gunman."
Billy Bob glanced down at Jack's body. A messy, dark puddle was forming under it. "He ain't saying much of anything now, is he?"
"I ain't never seen shooting like that," Blue Hat said.
"And you won't again, unless it's me you see. You want that pistol, boy, take it. But unload it first. It would make me a mite more comfortable."
Blue Hat unloaded the pistol.
Riley watched him doing it, looking like a dog that had been kicked.
"You take them bullets," Billy Bob said to Riley.
"Yes sir," Riley said, just like it was the happiest thing he'd ever done. He scooped up the bullets, put them under the counter about where the Mexicans pistol was.
"And throw that ugly old liar out of here," Billy Bob said. "And mop up that blood, it's stinking up the place."
"Yes sir," Riley said. He ducked his hand behind the bar and got that same old rag he'd had the other day, went about mopping the counter off. The rag filled up quick, and I felt my stomach going. I tried to go for the door, but I couldn't make it. I put a hand on the bar and threw up on top of one of the stools,
When I lifted my eyes I seen Skinny looking at me over the bat wings. Next thing I knew Riley was putting a boot in my butt. "Get out," he screamed, "get out."
"Hold there," Billy Bob yelled. "Mind who you're kicking. He works for me."
I turned slightly and seen Billy Bob looking at me and Riley, and he was smiling. He looked ready to draw them pistols again. It didn't take much to know he was liking all this power. Wasn't no other reason he'd have stopped Riley from kicking me out. Any other time he'd have kicked me out his ownself.
"I'm sorry Mr…" Riley stuttered.
"Daniels," Billy Bob said. "Wild Bill Daniels. And you go back to doing what you was doing. Get that trash out of here. Then clean up Buster's mess. He's been sick. Buster, come on over here."
I went. I didn't know what else to do. I hadn't managed to stop the fight, and I didn't know if I was glad Billy Bob was the one who won or not.
Billy Bob put his arm around me. "What'd you think of that, boy?" he said nodding at the spot where Jack still lay. Riley was getting hold of the body under the arms and was fixing to drag it out the back way.
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Billy Bob didn't seem to notice. He slapped me on the back. "Barkeep. A whisky for my friend here. Whisky on the house."
That got a cheer from folks, and they started gathering around me and Billy Bob, and suddenly it was hot, real hot, and when I looked around me, it struck me how nobody looked like a person anymore. Their faces had changed. They had the same looks, you see, but there was something about the way they were smiling and the way their eyes looked that made me think that the souls had gone out of them.
Riley dropped Jack and started pouring glasses of whisky and beer, and suddenly I had a whisky in my hand, and I felt like I needed it, so I drank it, and the next thing I know I had another, and I drank it too.
"Ain't you got that stinker out of here yet?" Billy Bob yelled at Riley, and nodded at Jack's feet, which were now the only part of him you could see at the edge of the bar.
"But you said…" Riley started, then changed his mind. "Right," he said. He went back and got Jack and dragged him out the back door, and as he did, I got one last look at Texas Jack, Deadwood Pistol Demon, and he didn't look so special. He was just a fat, old, dead man with half his face blowed away. And there probably hadn't never been nothing special about him. He was just a sorry old loafer who lived off a storybook rep more than fact, and it had caught up with him. I figured that story Riley had told me about the Mexican was only half-truth. Jack most likely shot that sucker in the back and Riley's mouth took over from there.
Well, Riley got the mess cleaned up, and he came back and poured more drinks, and Billy Bob called for more, and I kept finding a whisky in my hand, and I kept drinking it. Each time I looked up from finishing one, the place had changed some. People looked odder and odder, even when I wasn't seeing them through the bottom of a whisky glass. Blue Hat was up by Billy Bob now, and it was like Texas Jack hadn't never been. The tick had dropped off the dead dog and was hooked onto another. The bony saloon girl was sitting on a stool next to Billy Bob and was entwined around him now, instead of the farmer, who had probably stayed home to do a bit of Bible study with his wife.
Riley was leaning over the bar and I couldn't get my eyes centered on nothing but his teeth, which seemed big and strong and ready to chew me or anything else up. His mouth was opening and closing, and it took a while before what he was saying to Billy Bob sunk into me. He was telling him about Homer, and saying what a bad hombre Homer was, and how he was even tougher than Jack, and he went on and on about the gunmen Homer had faced, and he told that story he told me about him tracking down Wild Bill Longley by himself
I was dizzy, real dizzy. Too many Wild Bills. Wild Bill Hickok, Wild Bill Longley, Wild Bill Daniels.
"He ain't nothing but an old man," I blurted out.
"What's that?" Riley said.
"I said he ain't nothing but an old man. You said he was an old man, seventy year old."
"Well now, boy, I ain't saying different now. I'm just telling Wild Bill here that Homer ain't gonna shine brightly on finding out there's been a shooting in town."
I seen what Riley was doing, but couldn't put the thought into words. I was too drunk. I had just come to that understanding. I'd never drank more than one whisky in my life, and now here I was with a belly full of that hot, worthless rot, and I was so drunk I couldn't make my mouth work. I wanted to tell Riley to go to hell. I wanted to say to Billy Bob that it was just Riley talking, trying to match him up with the sheriff, trying to turn real life into a dime novel, but the only thing that would come out when I finally got my mouth open was what I said before. "Homers an old man. You said he was seventy year old."
"You said that already, hoss," Riley said, and I hated those teeth of his. He didn't look like nothing but teeth with a set of eyes over the top of them.
"He's drunk," Blue Hat said.
Billy Bob laughed shortly, put his arm around my shoulders, and started walking me toward the door. I tried to push against it, but I didn't have no iron in my legs. I think if Billy Bob hadn't had his arms around my shoulders I'd have fallen down.
"Seventy year old," I said. "He ain't no gunfighter. You ain't neither."
Billy Bob pushed a little harder until we went through the bat wings, then when we was out on the boardwalk out of eyeshot of the drunks, he pulled me up close to him and pressed his forehead against mine and whispered. "You're embarrassing me, you dumb fool."
"He ain't no gunfighter, just an old man," I said, but it sounded more like a mumble.
Billy Bob turned me around and kicked me in the butt. I went tumbling into the street.
"Go on back to the wagon and sober up, kid. Stay out of my sight tonight."
I didn't see Billy Bob go away. I wasn't seeing much of anything. I rolled over on my back and looked at the sky for a bit, then I closed my eyes. When I opened them everything was fuzzy, but someone was leaning over me, and he was thin and had his hands stuck out and there were guns in them, and for a moment I thought Wild Bill Hickok had gotten out of that box and come to pay me a visit.