The Color Red
Chapter 10
Standard disclaimers apply.
Women for the taking. Drunken cowboys. Bad whiskey.
The Lady Gay had all three and each one fed on the vices of the other in a vicious circle.
He couldn't expect much more when the bar, itself, was a rough planed plank of wood twelve feet long and supported by two whiskey barrels on top of each other at both ends. Women in scanty short dresses and layers of face paint disappeared through a door at the back with wobbly-kneed bucks sporting their excitement in their pants. He knew what went on in the back, could only imagine what the paint was attempting to hide. The gals were pretty enough even though they were past the freshness of youth. Not that that really mattered after a man attained a full drunk.
The place even had a red head. It wasn't real.
Looseness of tongues, an advantage to him, was the only reason keeping him in this place.
Slaughter shuffled a deck of cards as he sat against the farthest wall of the long, narrow saloon. Alone. He assumed his lack of gambling partners was because of his neat, tidy suit that screamed professional gambler. No matter, his eyes and ears worked overtime.
Now that he knew she was here.
A big bug in baggy pants pushed through the door, the badge on his chest leading the way. Spurs jangling, he walked the perimeter of the room eyeing the men sitting at the tables and the women hanging on to them.
Zach nodded, putting two fingers to the narrow brim of his black Bowler.
Fuzzy face acknowledged with, "Peers quiet in here tonight."
Somewhere long in the past, the deep crowned hat lost its original color and became a sweat stained shade of the dry prairie he'd traversed by train.
"I just got into town today so I'll take your word on that, Marshal."
"Pshaw, I ain't no marshal. I'm th' dep'ty."
Zach watched the deputy wipe his sweaty face with the long end of the equally colorless bandana around his neck.
"Shore is a hot one t'night."
"That it is, Deputy."
"Name's Festus Haggen."
Zach caught wind of the deputy's second job before looking down to see a collection of dried horse manure on the toes of his cracked boots.
"Got us a heap o strangers in town."
Festus stood still, talking at Zach.
"Now Marshal Dillon, he likes ta keep a good order in town."
"This Marshal Dillon, is he a fair man? Honest?"
The filthy man showed no inkling of leaving.
"Pfff. He's th' best dang marshal in these here parts. Mebby anywheres."
"I just might come to see him tomorrow, Festus. Seems I've tracked a four-flusher to his town." He gave a nod. "Might be this could get handled without trouble."
There was no way he could ever explain the situation to a lawman and expect any help at all but then this dim wit wouldn't know it anyway.
"Well, shore, he'll be in his office t'morrow. You jes c'mon in."
Relieved, Zach saw Festus imitate the fingers to the hat. Even idiots could learn manners.
"You all have a good night. Been nice a jawin' with ya."
Zach wondered what the best dang marshal looked like especially when he had a deputy the likes of Festus Haggen. The people west of St. Louis were a different ilk.
He did have to give some credit to this marshal. The town was quiet.
Too quiet.
As Zach walked back to the Dodge House later that evening, he heard the sounds of another drunken free-for-all and the screams of wanton pirooting from the street outside the Bull's Head. True whores made their money any way and anywhere they could, even if it was up against a wall in a back alley.
He crossed this saloon off his list. It was bad enough sitting in the Lady Gay for three hours.
The Long Branch looked to be his best chance, the kind of saloon and clientele that the pretty young gal would gravitate toward.
Tomorrow.