Buzzard's Bluff. William W. Johnstone
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drifters and troublemakers. “From what you’re tellin’ me, the Golden Rail is wide open and the place that attracts the kind of people that make trouble. Well, I found out the hard way that Lost Coyote attracts troublemakers, too. And we do have two prostitutes that I’ve met.”
“Well, sure, Lost Coyote gets a few of the wrong kind of customers,” Cecil replied, “can’t avoid that—but not like Golden Rail. And Ruby and Clarice are just there for some of the men’s comfort. They’re there, if you need ’em, and good company when you’re drinking, but they ain’t like the brazen prostitutes at the Golden Rail.”
They talked a while longer until finally Cecil said he had better go home before Sarah threw his supper out for the coyotes to feed on. Freeman got up when Ben did and insisted on paying for Ben’s supper. “It’s my pleasure,” he said, “now that I found out you ain’t thinking about turning the Lost Coyote into another sin den.”
Lacy James met them on their way out. “Well, how was your supper, Ben Savage?” He allowed that it was as good as advertised, and she would definitely see him in there again. He said goodnight to them all and took his leave, desiring to take a little walk around town before returning to the Lost Coyote. Outside, he paused to strap on his gun belt and exhaled a couple of deep breaths to expel the heavy air inside his lungs and replace it with clear evening air. As he walked the already deserted main street, he found it strange to believe he had actually decided to keep the saloon and try to run it. I might change my mind in the morning, he thought, knowing there was no harm done. As far as Captain Mitchell knew, he was still a Ranger just taking a short leave of absence. Thoughts of Captain Mitchell led to thoughts of Billy Turner, which prompted him to reassure himself that it was time to quit the Rangers. Thanks to Jim Vickers, he could walk away from Texas law enforcement, a job he had never cared for, but one of the few he was qualified to do. Instead of waiting until he was too old to cut it and forced to retire, he could walk right into ownership of a going business. Thanks to the management skills of Rachel Baskin, he quickly reminded himself, having already been informed of this three times.
When he came to the blacksmith’s shop, he decided he would take Cousin in after breakfast in the morning. It was time to have the big dun fitted with some new shoes. He wasn’t really looking forward to the everyday business of running a saloon, so he decided he was every bit as glad as Freeman and the others to have Rachel Baskin to oversee the daily operation of it. When he got back to the Lost Coyote, he went inside to find a moderate collection of customers. He imagined he could feel every eye in the place on the new owner. Seeing Rachel standing at the far end of the bar, he made his way back to join her. “Don’t you go for supper?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” she answered. “Most of the time, I like to be here to judge the evening crowd and see if everything’s running smoothly.” She smiled at him when he looked as if about to question. “Everything seems to be going fine this evening.” She could see that he was at a loss, thinking he should be doing something to help her, but without the slightest notion as to what that might be. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing you need to be doing. And don’t think I’m going hungry. I went into the kitchen a little while before you came in and made myself some coffee and ate a cold biscuit with it.”
“Do we ever close?” He had to ask.
She laughed. “Yes, we usually close at one o’clock in the morning. Sometimes there may be one or two customers that would stay all night, if we’d let them. And sometimes we’ll let a poker game go on past that time, if it’s big enough to sell a lot of whiskey. But most of the time we close the doors at one. Our regular customers are used to that, and most of them don’t stay that late, anyway.” She watched his reaction to everything she told him and figured he would be no more help than Jim had been. She preferred it that way. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll take care of everything. Right now, how about a drink to celebrate our first day in business as partners?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” he agreed at once, thinking of a long road ahead before he would ever feel comfortable in his new role.
“Tiny,” she said, “let’s have a couple of glasses and hand me a bottle of the good stuff. Get a glass for yourself and join us in a toast to the new partnership.” She took a quick glance at Ben for his okay.
“Right,” Ben said. “Join us, Tiny.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Tiny replied, and filled three shot glasses with the expensive whiskey. They drank to the health of the Lost Coyote.
From that moment on, there was a sense of loyalty of purpose. Tiny picked up the three glasses and dropped them in the bucket of rinse water he kept under the bar. Then he took a long look at the two of them and decided this was going to be a good thing, as long as Ben was smart enough to stay out of Rachel’s way. And Tiny thought he was.
As Rachel had predicted, the crowd began to thin out well before the midnight hour, and when the clock behind the bar struck one o’clock, there were only two customers to be escorted to the front door. Ben retired for the night in the room where his benefactor Jim Vickers had slept, wondering what time he would wake up in the morning, since he was in the habit of going to bed hours before one o’clock.
CHAPTER 6
He surprised himself the next morning, waking up close to his usual time of five-thirty, even though he had gone to bed later than normal. He guessed it was because he had spent more time on a horse, in a hurry to get someplace else for so many years. He climbed into his clothes, pulled his boots on, and picked up his gun belt, then he hesitated. As a reputable businessman now, would it be proper for him to wear a Colt six-gun? Undecided, he put the weapon back on the chair and opened the door. Even though he had a hankering to try breakfast at the hotel, since his supper had been so good, he thought it might be better if he had breakfast in the saloon. He didn’t want to start off his first morning by insulting Annie Grey, his cook. So he stepped out into the back hall, but he stopped before closing his door. The long hall was still dark at this time of day, one window the only light. He just didn’t feel right. It had been too many years, so he went back inside his room, picked up his gun belt, and slapped it around his hips. Feeling dressed now, he went back into the hallway and started toward the kitchen.
It seemed awfully quiet, and it occurred to him that he didn’t hear a sound inside the saloon save that of his boots on the hardwood floor as he strode toward the kitchen door. At five-thirty, there should be sounds of Annie in the kitchen, but he heard no such sounds. Thinking he must have forgotten to wind his watch, he pulled it out, held it up to the window, and gave it another look. It was still running. He walked into the kitchen to find no one there, and the room almost as dark as the hallway. The big iron stove still felt warm from the night before, so he figured he might as well get it going again while there were still some live ashes left. Looking around the stove, he spotted a basket of kindling, next to a stack of firewood close to the outside door.
In a short time, he had a fire going and the stove began to heat up. Satisfied with that, he picked up the big gray coffeepot on the edge of the stove and walked out the back door to the pump. He was in the process of filling the pot with water when he became aware of someone standing behind him in the doorway. When he turned to see who it was, he found himself confronted by an obviously surprised Annie Grey. “Good mornin’,” he greeted her. “I was startin’ to worry about you.”
“Why?” she asked, still astonished to find him stumbling around her kitchen at this early hour.
“’Cause it’s gettin’ pretty late and you weren’t here, so I figured I’d best get a fire goin’ in your stove.”
“Why?” she asked again, waiting for an answer that made sense to her. When he failed to answer right away, she asked, “Have you been wanderin’ around the saloon all night?” He said that he had just gotten up. She realized then what his problem was. “I ain’t late,” she said. “I reckon you’ll have to get used to a new schedule.” Then she thought to say, “Unless you change it—you bein’ the owner and all. But ain’t nobody gets up early in the saloon ’cause they stay up so late before closin’.