From one of the tables there was a loud burst of laughter, and looking toward the sound, Lenny and Mary Lou saw Billy Ray Quentin.
“I see Billy Ray is being his usual obnoxious self tonight,” Lenny said.
“I try and stay away from him now,” Mary Lou said. Unconsciously, she raised her hand to her face. “Since he did this to me, he doesn’t find me pretty anymore, so he hasn’t been bothering me.”
“You are beautiful, Mary Lou, with or without a busted nose,” Lenny said.
“And you are sweet,” Mary Lou replied. She laughed. “You are blind for saying I’m beautiful. But sweet nevertheless.”
At that very moment, no more than a mile outside of town, Pearlie was on his way back to the Sugarloaf. He had been following a railroad track for the last several miles. Now, as he rounded a curve in the tracks, the town appeared in front of him. He had not come by this route on his way south, so he had no idea what town this might be, but it was not unlike the many other towns he had visited during his prolonged odyssey. It was a scattered array of buildings that were barely distinguishable from the hills and clumps that rose from the prairie floor.
As he rode into the town, he took a look at the row of false-front buildings that lined the street. Only two of them showed any sign of ever having been painted. The rest were made of raw, ripsawed lumber that was left to dry and gray as it was weathered by the elements.
Pearlie had learned long ago that his first impressions could tell him a lot about a town, so he made a thorough perusal of the town as he rode in. He saw a freight wagon backed up to the loading dock at Quentin’s Warehouse. Two men were busy unloading the wagon, though they weren’t talking.
Someone was sweeping the front porch of Quentin’s Hardware Store, and though Pearlie looked over toward him, and even touched the brim of his silver-banded hat by way of greeting, the sweeper made no acknowledgment of him whatsoever.
Pearlie hadn’t bothered to check the sign that hung on the railroad depot as he came into town, so as he rode down the street he had no idea where he actually was, though he was fairly certain he was back in Colorado now.
Pearlie rode by Quentin’s General Store, Quentin’s Apothecary, Kathleen’s Kitchen—which was a restaurant and boardinghouse, then Quentin’s Hotel, until he reached the New York Saloon.
“Hmm, I wonder how this fella Quentin has missed buying the saloon?” Pearlie said to the horse. Over long, solitary rides, Pearlie often talked to his horse—doing so in order to hear a human voice, even if it was his own. And in his mind, talking to his horse was more acceptable than talking to himself.
Stopping in front of the saloon, Pearlie tied his horse off at the hitching rack. Hanging under the porch roof of the saloon was a carved and painted mug of beer. It squeaked slightly as it moved back and forth in the hot, dry wind. Green bottle flies buzzed around a horse apple that lay next to the steps.
Once inside, Pearlie saw a large nude painting behind the bar. Surprised to see such a thing, he stopped to admire it for a moment.
“She’s quite a looker, isn’t she?” the bartender asked.
“Indeed she is,” Pearlie agreed.
“They say she is the illegitimate daughter of the Czar of Russia. He won’t claim her, so she has to model for nude paintings in order to make a living.”
“Is that true?” Pearlie asked.
The bartender laughed. “Hell, I don’t know if it is true or not, but Mr. Gibson—he owns the place—has told us to tell that story to all our new customers. What will it be?”
“A beer,” Pearlie said.
“Mr. Evans, could we have another beer please?” a young woman called from the far end of the bar.
“Hold your horses, Mary Lou, till I take care of this fella,” the bartender answered.
“I’m in no hurry,” Pearlie said. “You can serve the young lady first.” He nodded toward her, noticing that her nose was swollen and her eyes black.
“What happened to her?”
“She got beat up by an angry customer,” Evans replied.
“I hope you have stopped him from coming in here anymore.”
“I wish I could say that I did stop him, but he still comes in here on a regular basis,” Evans said as he held two mugs under the spigot of the huge barrel of beer.
Evans served both the scarred young woman and the young man who was with her, then returned to Pearlie.
“Now, stranger, you ordered a beer, I believe?”
“Yes, please,” Pearlie replied.
“Coming right up.” The bartender held another mug under the spigot of the barrel, then filled it with a foam-crowned, golden liquid.
Pearlie put a nickel on the bar, picked up the mug, then turned his back to the bar to look over the room. He saw a card game in progress.
“Well, boys, I’ve lost five dollars here today. If I lose any more than that, my wife won’t let me back in the house tonight,” one of the players said, getting up from the table then.
“Damn, Deckert, you didn’t play very long. You’re breakin’ up the game,” the youngest of the players said.
“Better I break up the game than my wife break my nose,” Deckert said, and the others laughed.
Pearlie walked over to the table and asked if he could join the game.
“What’s your name?” one of the cardplayers asked.
“I’m called Pearlie.”
“Pearlie?” the player replied. He chuckled. “Well, that’s not a name you hear every day, but then, I don’t have room to talk. My given name is Carroll Patterson, and when folks hear it, they think it’s a woman’s name. But I’m a veterinarian now, so most folks call me Doc.”
Doc pointed to the other two players in the game. “That fella is the newspaper editor—his name is Elmer Brandon, and the young one there is Billy Ray Quentin.”
“Glad to meet you,” Pearlie said. He shook hands with Doc and Brandon, but when he reached across the table to Billy Ray, Billy Ray pointedly began shuffling cards.
“You got ’ny money, Pearlie?” Billy Ray asked. “I don’t intend to waste my time with some saddle bum who can’t afford to play.”
“Billy Ray, that’s no way to greet a stranger,” Brandon said.
“This isn’t some welcoming cotillion,” Billy Ray said. “I asked you if you have any money.”
“I’ve got enough for a few hands, I suppose,” Pearlie replied, sizing up the unpleasant young man.
Extending his leg under the table, Billy Ray kicked the chair out. “All right, you can play till you run out of money. Have a seat.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t pay Billy Ray any mind,” Doc said. “He just got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Hell, Doc, what makes you think Billy Ray’s bed has a right side?” Brandon asked, and those close enough to overhear the conversation laughed.
“If you fellas don’t mind, I think I’ll just pull another chair up close and watch,” Deckert said. “That way I can enjoy the game without losin’ any more money.”
“Fine with me if nobody else cares,” Doc said.
No one else at the table complained, so Deckert pulled up a chair to watch.
Pearlie, Cal, and some of the other hands at Sugarloaf often played poker for matches. It was a game he enjoyed, and it was one at which he had some skill. He spent the first few hands observing the playing habits of the others, folding twice, once sacrificing only his ante, and once losing a little more. He lost the third hand as well, refusing to match a raise.
Without asking for permission, Billy Ray reached across the table and turned over Pearlie’s cards. The others seemed deferential to him.
“Ha!” Billy Ray said. “You had three fours, and you folded to two pair. I’m glad you decided to join us, mister. It’s goin’ to be fun takin’ what little money you have.”
“I don’t have all that much left,” Pearlie said. “And I didn’t want to take too much of a chance.”
&nbs
p; “A fella as scared as you probably ought not to play,” Billy Ray said as he raked in the pot.
Pearlie knew exactly what he was doing. By now he had not only picked up some of the strategy of the other players, he had also established in the minds of the others that he was a very cautious player. He had also noticed that Billy Ray was not only arrogant, but reckless. It was a character trait that Pearlie would be able to use.
The cards were dealt again, and this time Pearlie drew a pair of kings. He discarded one card, then smiled as he drew his new card, though in fact it was a five of diamonds, which did nothing to improve his hand.
Pearlie matched the bets, then when Billy Ray raised by five dollars, he watched as the others matched the raise.
“You goin’ to fold again, are you?” Billy Ray asked.
“No,” Pearlie said. “In fact, I think I’ll see your five-dollar raise and raise it by five more.”
“Too steep for me,” Doc said.
Brandon matched the raise, but Billy Ray, as Pearlie knew he would, raised again.
“Ten dollars,” Billy Ray said.
“Damn, Billy Ray, now you’ve run me out of the game as well,” Brandon said.
“I’ll see your ten, and raise you twenty more,” Pearlie replied.
“I ain’t got that much money on me,” Billy Ray said.
“What a shame,” Pearlie said as he reached for the pot.
“Wait a minute, do you know who I am?”
“They told me your name is Billy Ray. Is that not right?”
“It’s Billy Ray, all right. Billy Ray Quentin.” An arrogant smile spread across the young man’s face. “I reckon that names means somethin’ to you.”
Pearlie shook his head. “No,” he said. “To tell you the truth, Billy Ray, the name doesn’t mean a thing to me. Should it?”
“You damn right it should!” Billy Ray said angrily. “What’s the matter with you? Are you blind? Didn’t you see the name when you come into town? I near’bout own this town.”
“Actually, Billy Ray, that would be your pa that owns the town, not you,” Brandon said.
“It’s the same damn thing and you know it,” Billy Ray insisted. He looked across the table toward Pearlie. “Now here is the way it is, mister. I’m goin’ to see your twenty, and raise you by one hundred dollars,” he said. “You can either match that raise, or throw in your cards. What do you think of that?”
“I think if you are going to be raising me, you need to put the money in the pot,” Pearlie replied.
“I told you, I ain’t got it on me, but I’m good for it.”
“Mister, I’ve played poker in saloons and gambling halls all over the West,” Pearlie said. “And everywhere I’ve ever played, when a fella is raised, you either call, or raise with what money you brought to the table. Now if you have the money, put it out there. Otherwise, you’re goin’ to have to fold.”
“The hell you say!”
“Billy Ray, Pearlie is right,” Deckert said. “We’ve always played that way, and you know it.”
“What the hell business is it of yours, Deckert? You done dropped out of the game,” Billy Ray said angrily. “You lend me the money, Doc. You know I’m good for it.”
“I don’t have that much money on me,” Doc replied.
“Brandon?”
“Billy Ray, I’ve got a pretty good hand here myself,” the newspaper editor replied. “If I had enough money, I would have matched his raise. I don’t have the money.”
“All right!” Billy Ray said angrily. He took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. “All right, take your damn money.”
“Thank you,” Pearlie replied, raking in the pot.
“What did you have?” Billy Ray asked.
“You know better than that, mister,” Pearlie said in a friendly voice. “If you didn’t pay to see my cards, then I don’t have to show them.”
“I aim to see them damn cards,” Billy Ray said. He reached across the table and flipped over the cards Pearlie had laid before him facedown.
“What?” he shouted when he saw them. “All you had was a pair of kings?”
Deckert laughed out loud. “Whoowee, Billy Ray. Looks to me like this young feller run a bluff on you. Yes, sir, he dangled that line down and hooked you just like a fish.”
Several other patrons in the saloon laughed as well.
“Why, you cheatin’ son of a bitch!” Billy Ray shouted, leaping up quickly from his chair. “You ain’t about to make a fool out of me!”
Billy Ray started for his pistol.
The first thing Pearlie noticed was how incredibly slow the man was. When he started his draw, Pearlie thought he was going to have to kill him, but Billy Ray’s draw was so slow and deliberate that Pearlie realized he had another, better option.
Pearlie drew his own pistol, easily beating Billy Ray, then wrapping his hand around it, he brought it down hard on Billy Ray’s head. The arrogant man went down like a poleaxed steer.
Reaching down, Pearlie picked up Billy Ray’s pistol, then walked over to the bar and dropped the gun into a large, brass spittoon, specifically choosing one that was full.
A couple of the other people in the saloon chuckled.
“Ole Billy Ray isn’t goin’ to like findin’ his gun in the spittoon,” Lenny said.
“I don’t like this. Billy Ray isn’t the type to take this. I’m afraid the stranger has let himself in for trouble,” Mary Lou said.
Doc got down on the floor beside Billy Ray and, gingerly, ran his hand over the bump on Billy Ray’s head.
“How is he, Doc?” Evans called from behind the bar.
“He’s all right. He’d going to have a headache, but he’s all right.”
Brandon grabbed his hat. “If nobody objects, I think I’ll leave before Billy Ray comes to.”
“I’ll join you,” Doc said, following the newspaper editor to the door, then outside.
Pearlie stepped up to the bar. The bartender was standing at the far end, and he stood there for a moment longer before he moved down.
“You might want to leave, too, while you’ve still got the chance,” the bartender said.
“Why is that?”
“Billy Ray ain’t goin’ to be too pleasant when he comes to.”
“Well, maybe I can make friends with him,” Pearlie said easily. “But for now, I’d like another beer please, Mr. Evans,” Pearlie said, remembering the bartender’s name. “I’m afraid my other one got spilled in the ruckus.”
“I’ll get the beer, but mister, my advice to you is to drink it quick, then ride on out of town.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll just do that.”
“What’s your name, mister?” one of the others in the bar asked.
Pearlie waited until the beer was put in front of him. Then he picked it up, took a swallow, and wiped some of the foam off his lips before he turned to face his questioner.
“Folks call me Pearlie,” Pearlie said pleasantly. “And you are?”
“Kelly, Jerry Kelly. I work at the Tumbling Q. And the reason I asked your name is, I was just wonderin’ what name to tell the undertaker to put on your tombstone, is all.”
“Well, I appreciate your concern, Mr. Kelly, but I don’t figure on that bein’ any part of your problem,” Pearlie replied. “After I finish my beer, I plan to be on my way.”
“You better drink fast then. You got ’ny idea who that fella is that you just riled?”
“Isn’t his name Billy Ray?”
“That’s right. Billy Ray. Quentin,” he added pointedly.
“Yeah, he said that, too.”
“Don’t that name mean anything to you?”
“He tried to tell me he was someone important,” Pearlie said easily. “I know I did see the name a few times as I was ridin’ into town.”
“A few times? Pogue Quentin damn near owns the whole town, plus one of the biggest ranches in the state,” Kelly said.
“Pogue Quentin?”
; “Yeah, that’s Billy Ray’s pa. And he ain’t one to get riled.”
“Well, Mr. Kelly, I didn’t rile Pogue Quentin,” Pearlie said easily. “I riled his son.”
At that moment, Billy Ray regained consciousness. Getting up groggily, he looked around the room and, seeing Pearlie standing at the bar, let out a loud, angry roar. He reached again for his pistol, but this time found only an empty holster.
“Where at’s my gun?” he yelled.
“In there,” Pearlie said, pointing to the spittoon.
Billy Ray looked at the spittoon, then glared at Pearlie. After a moment, he walked out without saying another word.
Chapter Thirteen
“I’ll be damned,” Deckert said after Billy Ray left so quietly. “I never thought I would see anything like that. Billy Ray’s got the worst case of temper of anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“Yes, who would think he would just walk out of here like that without doing anything?” Lenny said.
“Maybe he just—” Mary Lou stopped in mid-sentence, and glancing into the mirror behind the bar, Pearlie understood why. In the reflection of the mirror, he saw Billy Ray rushing back in through the batwing doors like a mad bull. This time he had a shotgun in his hands.
“You son of a bitch! Nobody does me that way!” he bellowed. He let loose a blast as soon as he cleared the doors.
Because Pearlie had seen Billy Ray in the mirror, he was able to launch himself onto the floor just as the big man pulled the trigger. Despite Pearlie’s quick reaction, he felt the sting of four or five of the pellets. Fortunately, the biggest load hit the bar, taking out a significant chunk of it.
Enraged that he missed, Billy Ray swung the shotgun toward Pearlie.
“You son of a bitch!” he shouted. He pulled the hammer back on the second barrel. “I’m going to leave your guts on the floor!”
Pearlie had drawn his pistol even as he dived to the floor and now, lying on his back, with his face bleeding slightly from the puncture wounds of the pellets that did strike him, he raised up, pointed his pistol at Billy Ray, and pulled the trigger. His bullet caught Billy Ray in the forehead, and the shotgun-wielding big man fell backward onto the boardwalk in front of the New York Saloon.
Savagery of The Mountain Man Page 13