Narrowing his eyes, Angus rumbled in reply, "All the stuff, as ye put it, is good in me bar."
"Aye, the good stuff! The good stuff!"
Cooper's head jerked up at the sound of the shrill voice. He spotted the brightly colored parrot sitting on its perch on the backbar. With a scowl, he said, "Somebody's goin' to make stew out of that damned bird one of these days, MacQuarrie."
"Stew out o' Old Bailey?" Angus laughed shortly. "Dinna be daft, man. 'Twould take a heap o' cookin' t'soften up tha' stringy old devil!"
"Dinna be daft, man!" the parrot squawked. "Dinna be daft!"
Gage Stauck put his hand on the butt of his gun. "Bet I could make some feathers fly," he said with a grin.
Angus poured whiskey into the three glasses, and as he shoved Stauck's glass toward him, he said, "Take ye hand off ye gun, mister. There'll be none o' tha' in this establishment." The tavern keeper's voice was hard and cold.
"Ah, hell," Stauck muttered. "I was just jokin'." He moved his hand away from the butt of the pistol.
As Angus put the cork back in the bottle, Cooper reached out to wrap his fingers around its neck. "We'll take the bottle, too," he said.
"Ye'll pay for it first," Angus shot back.
Cooper grunted, tossed off the liquor in his glass, then dug into his pocket and produced several coins. Slapping them down on the bar, he turned toward one of the few empty tables, taking the bottle with him. Dawson and Stauck followed along behind.
They settled down for some serious drinking, Cooper doing the pouring. The three of them spoke very little, concentrating instead on the liquor and on the cigarettes they rolled.
Cooper was aware that several people in the room glanced at him, but that was what he wanted. Famous outlaws attracted attention; that was his goal. One of these days the Cooper gang would be just as well known as the James boys or the Reno brothers. As the leader of the daring band, people would respect him—and fear him.
As he listened to the conversations going on around him, though, he became aware that no one was talking about him. Instead, everyone was talking about the impending arrival of Professor Horace Houser's Traveling Circus and Extravaganza.
Cooper's expression became more and more sour as he overheard the excited discussion of the circus's attractions. He tossed down his drinks faster, and the level of whiskey in the bottle dropped rapidly.
His friends were listening to the talk, too, and finally Gage Stauck leaned forward and asked in a voice that sounded almost as intrigued as a child's, "Are we goin' to the circus, Ned?"
"Why the hell would we do that?" Cooper growled. "Circuses are for kids, Stauck."
"Oh, I don't know," Dawson said. "I think it sounds like it might be fun. You're just mad because the cripple landed a punch on you, Ned."
Cooper's fingers tightened on his glass. "He was just as lucky as Flint. I'll teach him a lesson if I ever run into him again."
Dawson sipped his drink. "You might see him at the circus if we went," he suggested.
Slowly, Cooper nodded. He hadn’t considered that possibility.
Sensing that Cooper was wavering in his decision, Stauck said quickly, "I hear they've got this pretty gal who's a sharpshooter, Ned. Wouldn't you like to see that?"
Cooper laughed. His voice becoming louder, he said, "Hell, no woman can shoot as good as a man."
"She's supposed to be good," Dawson added, repeating what he had heard from the table behind him. “A real deadeye.”
Cooper stared into his drink and brooded for a moment, then finished off the whiskey. As he banged the glass back down on the table, he declared, "I say no woman can outshoot me!" Lifting his voice even more, he continued. "And I dare any man in this saloon to deny it!"
"Here now, mister," a cowboy at a nearby table spoke up, "there's no call to get upset."
Cooper fixed him with a glare. "I'm not upset. I just don't want anybody thinkin' some female can outshoot me." He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping on the plank floor. "And I don't like you sayin' she can."
The cowboy held up his hands. "Hell, I didn't say that. I don't even know how you can shoot."
Cooper faced the man, his hands hanging loose at his sides, the fingers almost brushing the butts of the two guns he wore. In a soft voice, he said, "Why don't you find out?"
Silence fell over the big room as the patrons realized what was about to happen. The surprised cowboy swallowed anxiously. "I ain't no gunfighter, mister," he said.
"You sure as hell were fast enough with your mouth," Cooper grated.
Behind him at the table, Stauck and Dawson exchanged glances. Cooper could always be counted on for some fun when he had been boozing, even if it was just putting the run on some poor dumb puncher.
The cowboy said, "I never meant no offense. I just wanted to go see that circus when it comes to town."
Cooper took a deep breath and controlled his anger. "You just do that," he told the cowboy. "You go see that gal who's supposed to be so damn good with a gun. You'll see. I'll prove she's nothin'." Cooper cast his stormy gaze around the room. "You'll all see!"
Several men were muttering angrily now as Cooper glared at them. A few pushed back their chairs, ready to get up and take issue with his drunken boasting. The feel of a brawl was in the air, and Cooper, for one, would be only too glad to bust some heads.
"All right," Angus said from the bar, his heavy voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Tha' is enough, I'm thinking. Ye and ye friends had best leave, bucko."
Cooper spun toward the bar, his hand going to his gun. Before he could draw it, Heck Dawson lunged across the table, reaching out frantically. As he caught Cooper's wrist and held it there, the Colt undrawn, he warned, "No, Ned! Don't do it!"
Cooper started to curse his friend bitterly, but then he saw why Dawson had acted as he had. Angus MacQuarrie held a shotgun in his big hands, and the double barrels were staring right at him. He hadn’t noticed the click of both barrels being cocked, but there was no doubt about it; they were ready to fire.
Suddenly, Cooper sneered. "You touch off that scattergun in here, old man, and you'll blast half your customers along with me. That what you want?"
Men at the tables surrounding Cooper scattered. Chairs overturned as they were hastily vacated.
"Maybe I'll hit 'em 'n' maybe I won't," Angus said. "But ye won't know about it if I do, Cooper, 'cause ye'll be cut in half by this buckshot."
The parrot screeched, "Cut in half! Aye, cut in half!"
Gage Stauck was pale and sweating, and Heck Dawson kept glancing nervously at Angus. Dawson released Cooper's wrist and muttered, "Forget it, Ned. It ain't worth it."
Cooper looked at them, contempt plain on his features. "What the hell good are you?" he snapped. "You two won't even back up a partner!"
Dawson shook his head, stood up, and moved away from the table. "I just don't want to get killed over something like this, Ned. That circus ain't worth it, and neither is some sharpshooting girl."
A long moment went by. Cooper saw how rocksteady the barrels of the shotgun were, and finally he took a deep breath and moved his hand away from his gun. "All right," he growled. "But I won't forget this, MacQuarrie."
"I dinna care if ye forget or not, lad," Angus said. "Just so ye get out o' me tavern."
Cooper turned sharply away and stalked to the door, pushing past Dawson. Stauck stood up hurriedly, and along with Dawson, they followed Cooper.
Cooper paused at the batwings and looked back at the patrons of the saloon. "I meant what I said," he told them. "All of you go to your damn circus. You'll see me teach that she-dog a thing or two about shootin'!"
Then he was gone, pushing out through the batwings into the night, his companions on his heels.
Lucas Flint was at his desk, flipping through the latest bunch of wanted posters he had received, when he heard the thump of booted feet on the boardwalk outside. As he glanced up, the door of his office opened, and Angus MacQuarrie's burly frame move
d through the entrance.
"'Evening, Angus," Flint said, squaring the sheaf of reward-dodgers and placing them in one of the desk drawers. "What are you doing out and about at this hour? I'd think you'd be behind your bar now, pouring drinks."
Angus waved a big hand. "Ah, I left the place wi' one o' the lads for a short time. 'Twas talkin' to ye I thought I should be doin'."
"Then have a seat." Flint nodded at the chair on the other side of the desk. "Is there a problem down at the tavern?"
Angus snorted as he sat down heavily. "Don't run across too many problems I kinna handle, Lucas. 'Tis worried about someone else, I am. Ye know a young fella, name o' Ned Cooper?"
"Cooper?" Flint said with a frown. The name was familiar, but... Then it came back to him. That was the name of the cowboy who had picked the fight with Asa Parker that morning before the warehouse fire. "Sure, I know him," the marshal went on. "In fact, now that I think about it, I've heard some talk that he and his friends may be behind some of the robberies we've had in the area lately. Have Cooper and his bunch been bothering you?"
Angus's bearded face was wreathed in a grin. "Ye know this Scotsman, Lucas. If I was worried about Ned Cooper, I'd be handling it meself. He was in me place a bit ago, drinkin' too much, o' course, 'n' he near started a brawl. Lookin' down the barrels o' me shotgun changed his mind for him."
"It doesn't surprise me that he was causing trouble," Flint commented. "I had to kick him out of town this morning when he tried to rough up a stranger. What was it about tonight?"
"He was mad about that circus comin' t'town, he was. He said he was ginna show that female deadeye that she could'na outshoot him."
Flint frowned. "This morning Cooper had a run-in with the fellow putting up handbills to advertise the circus. It sounds like he's holding a grudge against the whole show."
Angus tapped the side of his head with a blunt finger and said, "I'm thinking young Cooper's a wee bit off in the head, Lucas."
Flint nodded. He leaned back in his chair and frowned thoughtfully. "I figured this circus would bring trouble to town with it." The marshal paused, then went on, "Well, we'll just wait and see. If any trouble comes up, we'll handle it. I know one thing—I plan to be keeping a close eye on Professor Horace Houser and his performers. I'll watch out for Cooper, too. Maybe we can head off any trouble before it starts."
Even as he said it, his lawman's instincts told him that wasn’t the way things were going to work out.
5
Even though the circus wasn’t to arrive until later in the morning, the crowds began to gather not long after the sun came up the next day. As Lucas Flint leaned on the railing of the boardwalk in front of the marshal's office, with Cully Markham beside him, he watched the steady stream of traffic into Abilene and shook his head.
"Looks like word of the circus got around all over these parts," Cully commented.
"Plenty of folks coming in from the country, all right."
There were wagons and buckboards and buggies tied up all along the street. Whole families had come in from the farms and ranches in the surrounding area. Children ran here and there, laughing excitedly, unable to contain the anticipation they felt. Most of the shops along Texas Street opened early and were already doing a brisk business.
Flint glanced down the boardwalk and saw the attractive, dark-haired Dr. Rose Keller approaching. He smiled at her and touched the brim of his hat, and Cully did likewise. "Good morning," Flint said. "Have you turned out for the parade, too, Rose?"
"As a matter of fact, that's why I'm here," Rose replied as she returned the marshal's smile. "I thought it would be a good idea to be on hand in case there were any injuries. And I must admit, the idea of seeing the parade itself is exciting."
"I hope your medical services aren't needed."
"Well, I'll be here in case they are." Rose rested her hands on the boardwalk railing and looked out at the crowd in the street. "My, there's certainly quite a turnout."
"Half the folks in Kansas and three fourths of the dogs," Cully said with a grin.
Rose laughed softly. Flint divided his attention between the street and the doctor, thinking that Rose was certainly looking lovely today. She was wearing a lightweight cotton frock, and her lustrous brunette hair was piled atop her head in appealing curls. She was about as far from the common conception of a doctor as could be. Since her mentor, Dr.Lewis Gilmore, had gone into retirement, Rose had handled the medical needs of the community and done an excellent job of it. Flint thought Abilene was lucky to have her.
"Ah, good mornin' t'ye," Angus MacQuarrie called from down the block, lifting a big hand in greeting. He joined the little group in front of the marshal's office.
"You're up early this morning, Angus," Flint said. "It couldn't be that you've come to watch the circus parade, too?"
"I'll not deny it, Lucas. 'Twill be quite a spectacle, I expect."
Flint nodded. "It should be a while yet before the circus arrives. Why don't we go in the office and have some coffee while we wait?"
The others agreed. Flint had put a pot of coffee on to brew as soon as he arrived at the office, and by now it was ready.
As the four of them settled down in chairs to sip the strong black liquid, Angus asked, "Have ye seen anything o' tha' young fellow Cooper this morning, Lucas?"
As Flint shook his head, Cully exclaimed, "Cooper? Is he causing trouble again, Marshal?"
"He was running his mouth off in me tavern last evening, laddie," Angus said. "Claimed he was ginna cause trouble for them circus folk, he did."
Flint said quietly, "Cooper's more talk than he is action. He'll back down anytime the odds aren't heavily in his favor."
"We'd better keep an eye out for him anyway," Cully said. "I never have trusted him."
When they had finished their coffee, Flint stood up and said, "Cully, you and I had better take a turn around town. Rose, you and Angus feel free to wait here in the office if you want to."
"All right," Rose replied. "If anyone comes in looking for you, we'll tell them you'll be back shortly."
"Thanks." Flint nodded.
Together, he and Cully left the office and began strolling down the boardwalk. Abilene was even more crowded now, Flint saw. Everybody who lived anywhere near town had come in, and many of the bystanders called greetings to the two lawmen.
Flint and Cully took their time, ambling up one side of Texas Street and then down the other, pausing to chat with several of the merchants and many of the spectators. By the time the two men returned to the marshal's office, Rose and Angus had moved outside and were sitting on a couple of the wooden chairs that lined the boardwalk next to the wall of the building. Flint and Cully joined them.
Angus pulled a massive watch from his pants pocket and opened it. "Near eleven o'clock," he grunted. "They ought t'be here soon."
"I hope so," Flint said. "Folks are getting a little restless."
Suddenly a cheer went up, far down the street to the east. The cry was taken up and passed along through the crowd.
"Must be them," Rose said with a grin.
Flint stood up, stepped off the boardwalk, and walked into the center of the street, peering to the east. Dust was rising just on the edge of town, and Flint could hear faint strains of music above the bustle around him.
"You folks, clear the street," he called to the bystanders. "Everybody up on the boardwalks!"
Flint rejoined his friends in front of the office. The four of them leaned on the railing and peered to the east.
From across the street, someone called Cully's name. The deputy glanced up to see Patrick Hammond standing on the opposite boardwalk with a group of the students from the school. Emery Thornbury was standing behind them, glaring across the street. Clearly, he hadn’t forgotten the incident with Cully the day before.
Patrick waved excitedly, and Cully returned the wave. Noticing the exchange, Flint leaned over to his deputy and said, "I hope Thornbury can keep those kids in line. I do
n't want any of them running out into the street and getting hurt."
"They're good kids," Cully replied. "They won't get into trouble."
Cully grinned at the memory of his confrontation with the teacher. Obviously, Thornbury hadn’t gone to Flint with his complaints, or Cully would have heard about it from the marshal. "When does that old sourpuss ever look happy?" he asked. Flint chuckled and didn’t answer.
The music came plainly to their ears now, traditional marching tunes designed to stir the hearts of young and old alike. The circus band came into sight, the music blending with the cheers of the crowd. Wearing white pants, bright red jackets, and plumed hats, the band would have looked like a military unit except for carrying instruments instead of weapons. It wasn’t a large band, perhaps a dozen men, but they played with an enthusiasm that belied their size.
Following the band came the first of the circus wagons, its sides boldly emblazoned with the legend PROFESSOR HORACE HOUSER’S TRAVELING CIRCUS AND EXTRAVAGANZA. Four beautiful white stallions wearing silver-studded harnesses pulled the wagon. Atop the seat stood a man dressed in white trousers tucked into high black boots and a brilliant crimson jacket with long tails. On his head was a black top hat, which he doffed frequently to the crowd. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his dark, neatly trimmed beard was shot with gray.
"Hello!" he called to the bystanders as the wagon rolled past. "Good to see you! Be sure to come to the circus!"
Professor Horace Houser himself, Flint thought, studying the thoroughly distinguished gentleman.
Behind the professor's wagon came several men in gaudy coats, garish makeup, and shoes several sizes too large. Laughter ran through the crowd at the sight of the clowns. Maintaining their rather solemn demeanor, the clowns raised battered hats in greeting, then proceeded to trip over their own feet. One of them took several brightly colored wooden balls from the pocket of his oversized jacket and began juggling them, keeping up the dizzying routine for several seconds before he allowed one of the balls to bounce off his head. That provoked more laughter from the children.
Rattler's Law, Volume One Page 26