Buzzard's Bluff. William W. Johnstone
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mean we didn’t love the man.”
“Have you been workin’ here a long time?” Ben asked.
“Since the day Jim Vickers officially opened the door for business,” she said. “He didn’t have any family to help him, and I needed to make a living for myself.”
“I woulda thought, if the owner didn’t have any family, the saloon mighta just gone to you when he died.”
“That’s what I thought,” Tiny commented. “Jim was in such poor health for the last year or more, so Rachel was runnin’ the business. We figured that when he died, the saloon would just keep operatin’ with Rachel runnin’ it.”
“It didn’t happen that way, though,” Rachel said. “Come to find out, Jim had a will and left the saloon to somebody. The lawyer said it would probably be sold, because he said the new owner wasn’t likely to keep it.”
“And he didn’t tell you who the person was that inherited it?” Ben asked. They both shook their heads. “Well, I can understand why you’re wonderin’ what’s gonna happen.” He would have told them what was going to happen, but he wasn’t sure, himself, at this point. The only thing he was sure of he did comment on, however. “You know, you weren’t lyin’, this stew is good. Reckon I could have another cup of that coffee?”
Rachel smiled and was about to respond when she was interrupted by an outburst from the card game. They looked toward the table to see one of the players on his feet. A stubby little man with red hair and beard, he was pointing at one of the cowhands and exclaiming loudly. “I’d best see what that’s about before Tuck gets himself shot,” Rachel said.
“You’d best let me go see about it,” Tiny said. “We’ve had trouble with that pair from the Double-D before.”
“No,” Rachel insisted. “You go over there and you’re liable to get yourself shot. They’re not gonna get rough with a woman. Go on back to the bar in case you need the shotgun. Sorry, Mr. Savage,” she apologized to Ben as she walked away.
“They ride for the Double-D Ranch,” Tiny felt a need to explain. “We don’t usually see any of their crew in here but once in a while. But it seems like every time we do, they cause trouble. Their usual hangout is the Golden Rail, down the street.”
Curious to see how the woman was going to quiet the disturbance before it became violent, Ben turned his chair partially around so he could watch. “What is the trouble back here, Tuck?” Rachel asked when she approached the table.
All eyes turned toward her. “These sidewinders are low-down cheaters!” the gnarly little man declared. “And they ain’t even good at it. That one,” he pointed at one of the cowhands, “is tryin’ to deal off the bottom of the deck, and I’ve caught him at it twice. Me and Ham were havin’ a friendly little game of two-handed poker and these two wanted to play. So we let ’em play. I reckon they was figurin’ on skinnin’ two old codgers.”
Rachel spoke directly to the man Tuck had accused. “Why don’t you and your friend move over to another table and we’ll give you a couple of drinks on the house.”
One of the cowhands, a large surly-looking bully, waited until Rachel finished before speaking. “I didn’t hear anybody ask you to put your two cents in, bitch. This ain’t none of your business, but if this redheaded little turd don’t set down and shut his mouth, I’m gonna shoot the snake down.”
“All right,” Rachel responded. “I think you and your friend have had enough to drink. I think it’s best if you leave now before anybody gets hurt.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere till I hear this little maggot tell me he’s a lyin’ piece of dirt,” the bully informed her. He crossed his arms and sat solidly in the chair. “If you wanna throw me outta here, sweetie-pants, you’re gonna have to pick me up and tote me ’cause I ain’t movin’ outta this chair.”
They were clearly at a standstill with the bully parked in the chair like a pouting child, daring anyone to try to move him. His partner, obviously enjoying the woman’s helpless situation, added to Rachel’s problems when he openly solicited her for a roll on a mattress upstairs. It was at this point that Ben figured he’d had enough of the bullying. Very quietly, he got up from his chair and walked up behind the bully’s chair. The other cowhand became alert and, with his hand resting on the handle of his handgun, he waited for Ben to make a move. But Ben didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached down and grasped the two back legs of the chair the bully was sitting in. Then in one swift, powerful motion, he jerked the chair out from under him, dumping him on the floor. Before the bully’s backside hit the floor, Ben threw the empty chair to land in his partner’s arms, causing him to stagger backward while trying to get out of his chair and pull his pistol at the same time. By the time he was free of the chair, he found himself staring at Ben’s six-gun, already out and aimed at him. “Go ahead, if you feel lucky,” Ben invited.
The cowhand hesitated for a moment before reconsidering. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Put that gun back in the holster and we’ll see who shoots who.”
“Do I look that damn stupid? I oughta go ahead and shoot you just to rid the world of another moron. Get on your feet and get on outta here.” He glanced at Tiny, standing wide-eyed and gaping. “Are they paid up? They owe anything?”
“No, they paid for the whiskey,” Tiny answered.
“All right, we’re goin’,” the surly-looking bully said and got up from the floor. He glared at Ben while he dusted his pants off. “Another time things might be a whole lot different,” he said.
“I expect you’d be the same loudmouth lookin’ for trouble and showin’ no respect for ladies,” Ben said. He kept his gun on them until he marched them out the door and stood in the door until they untied their horses and stepped up into the saddle.
“I’ll be seein’ ya,” the bully said.
“Not if I can help it,” Ben said and went back inside where Tuck and Ham were grilling Rachel and Tiny about the stranger. Ben was heading back to the table to finish his coffee and the one biscuit he was just getting ready to eat before he decided to get involved with Rachel’s predicament. Glancing at the gnome-like little man watching him, he saw Tuck’s eyes suddenly open wide. It was all the warning Ben needed.
“Look out!” Tuck yelled, but by then Ben had already spun around and fired. The cowhand bully dropped to his knees, his drawn pistol clattered to the floor, then he sank facedown, a bullet in his chest. Waiting only a few seconds to make sure he was dead, Ben ran back to the saloon door only to see the dead man’s partner race away up the street, leading the bully’s horse.
Frozen in a moment of amazement over what had just occurred, Rachel finally broke the silence that followed the gunshot. “I guess we’d best go get the sheriff, but he’ll probably be here in a few minutes, anyway, if he heard the shot.”
“I’ll go get him,” Ham volunteered and went out the door, being careful to step around the body lying in the way. He was gone for less than a minute before he came back in the door, Sheriff Mack Bragg right behind him.
The sheriff walked in and nodded to the stunned woman standing near the bar. “Rachel,” Bragg acknowledged, “you wanna tell me what happened here?” He never took his eyes off the formidable stranger standing in the center of the room.
“It was strictly self-defense, Mack,” Rachel said at once. “If Mr. Savage had not been alert, he would have been killed. Everyone here will tell you that.” She looked around at them, and they all nodded. She went on to tell the sheriff all the details that led up to the shooting. He seemed satisfied that it had all happened just as she said, so he turned to Ben.
“Well, I’m sorry you had to get your first look at our town in such a bad light, Mr....” He paused to recall the name.
“Ben Savage,” Ben quickly announced. “I’m sorry, as well. But I already had a good impression of