“Hey, what the hell did you do that for?” one of the three remaining cowboys shouted. “Marshal, did you see that? He hit Bart right up alongside the head.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Calhoun replied.
“What do you mean, you didn’t see anything? What the hell, you was standin’ right here.”
“Start picking up the type and everything else you threw out of here,” Falcon said.
“Why should we do that? Marshal, if you’re goin’ to take us to jail, go ahead and take us now. Mr. Clinton will more’n likely bail us out first thing in the mornin’. I’ll go to jail, but I’ll be damn if I’m goin’ to pick up one damn thing.”
“That’s too bad,” Falcon said. Again, his gun was out, and again he slammed it against the head of the cowboy who had just stated he wasn’t going to pick up anything.
“Shit! He did it again!” one of the two remaining men said in alarm.
“It would have been an easier job if all four of you had done it,” Falcon said. “Now there are only two of you, unless one of you wants to refuse.”
“Mister, about the only way you’re goin’ to make me pick up anything is to shoot me.”
“Your terms are acceptable,” Falcon said, speaking in a very quiet, cold, and calm voice. He pointed his pistol at the head of the cowboy who had just spoken, and cocked it.
“Mister, do you think I actually believe you are going to shoot me?”
“Shut up, Clyde,” the other cowboy said sharply. He continued to stare at Falcon. “I believe this son of a bitch would shoot us. Marshal, you heard him. This fella just threatened to kill us, and he ain’t no lawman. I demand that you arrest him.”
“Mr. Falcon, I hereby appoint you a temporary deputy,” Calhoun said.
“That ain’t legal for you to do that,” Clyde said.
“You see any judges around here?” Calhoun asked.
“What? No, I don’t see no judges.”
“Then for the time being, it’s legal, simply because I say it is legal. Now, pick all this up, or I’ll shoot you myself.”
The two cowboys looked at each other, then, under the guidance of Harold Denham, they began picking up, and reassembling, the scattered type and other components of the newspaper office. A few minutes later, the other two cowboys, still groggy, began helping as well.
All the while the four men were working, citizens of the town were gathered around, laughing and calling out instructions to them.
“Bart! You missed the piece over here!”
“Virgil, it don’t look to me like you’re holdin’ up your end.”
Finally, the newspaper office was put back together except for the broken window. And even though it couldn’t be repaired at the moment, all the shattered glass was swept up.
“Damn,” Denham said after Marshal Calhoun marched the four down to jail. “It’ll take me two weeks to get a replacement for that window.”
“No, it won’t,” Corey Hampton said.
“What do you mean it won’t?”
“One of the windows back at the Golden Nugget is cracked. It’s about the size of this window, and I’ve ordered a replacement. It should be here in a few more days. I’ll let you have that one, and I’ll order another one.”
“Would you? That’s damn decent of you, Corey.”
“Well, like you, I believe in the power of the press,” he said.
“Really? Well, if you believe in the newspaper that much, why not increase your advertising?”
Corey laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Harold. You are always doing business.”
Totally unaware of the fact that four of his father’s employees were currently locked up in the jail, Billy Clinton rode into town that night. He’d told his brothers and his father that he planned to have dinner at the Vermillion, then stop by the Golden Nugget to hear Miss Kirby play the piano.
“Ha!” Cletus teased. “It’s too bad we don’t have an opera house. ’Cause more’n likely Billy would go there ever’ night for tea and trumpets.”
“That’s crumpets,” Billy said.
“Crumpets? What are crumpets?”
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter what they are,” Billy said with a sigh. “You just go your way and I’ll go mine.”
It was dark by the time Billy got into town and tied his horse at a hitching rail in front of the Golden Nugget, which would suggest to anyone who recognized his horse that Billy was in town enjoying a drink at the saloon. But in fact, Billy slipped through the darkness alongside the saloon to the alley behind. Then, with his movements masked by the night, he hurried up the alley to the Garrison house, where he climbed a picket fence, then stood in the dark shadows of a cottonwood tree. The shadows were necessary because the moon was exceptionally large and exceptionally bright tonight, and if he wandered out from under the tree, he could easily be seen.
Looking up to the second floor, to the window on the extreme right side of the house, he saw that the room was well lit. He knew also that this was the window of the room that belonged to Kathleen.
Billy had come down the alley a few times, thinking about calling up to Kathleen, but always before he had lost his nerve before climbing the fence. Kathleen did not know, nor did he ever want her to know. He would come, look up toward her room whether it was lighted or not, and feel closer to her.
Tonight, just standing in the alley wasn’t enough, so he climbed the fence and moved into her garden. It was not his intention to let her know he was here tonight, but as he started to leave, she stepped out onto the balcony and, because the moon was so bright, he was forced to remain, very quietly, in the shadow cast by the tree.
“Señorita Garrison, you should have a coat,” a maid’s voice called from inside the room. “You will catch your death out there in the cold.”
“It is not so cold, Maria,” Kathleen replied. She wrapped her arms about herself. “Oh, the moon is glorious tonight. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
“Yes, I have,” Billy answered, though speaking too quietly to be heard. “You are more beautiful than the moon, the sun, or all the stars.”
“Maria, have you ever been in love?” Kathleen asked.
“Si, señorita. Everyone has been in love,” Maria answered, still from inside Kathleen’s room.
“Yes,” Kathleen said. “Everyone has been in love, haven’t they? Why, then, did it become my fate to love someone who’s very name is an abhorrence to my father? If only I could be a Smith, or a Jones, or even a Gonzales.”
“Señorita, no, you cannot say such a thing,” Maria said. “That would be denying your father.”
“I would gladly deny my father if Billy would deny his,” Kathleen said.
“You cannot ask someone to deny who he is, señorita.”
“You don’t understand, Maria,” Kathleen said. “I’m not asking him to deny who he is, only to deny his name. If he were a Miller or a Kelly, he would still be Billy. What is the old saying? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet?”
“I have never heard that saying, señorita.”
“Trust me, it is a famous saying,” Kathleen said. She giggled. “I just don’t know who said it.”
“Your bed is turned down, señorita,” Maria said. “I am going now. Good night.”
“Good night, Maria,” Kathleen said.
Billy waited until he was sure that the maid was gone. Then he called up to the balcony.
“For your love, Kathleen, I will call myself by any name you choose.”
“What?” Kathleen gasped. “My God, Billy, what are you doing out here hiding in the dark?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I’m not frightened of you, don’t you understand? I’m frightened for you. If my father finds you here—or your brothers, I don’t know what would happen.”
“I’m not afraid of your father or my brothers,” Billy said. “The only thing I fear is losing you.”