Chapter Three
"I'd like to take Wes for a beer when he's feelin' better, Mrs. Kenyon."
"I suppose that'd be alright with Wes," said Shona.
"At the Long Branch?" said Wes.
"At the Long Branch," said Matt.
"Beer's better than whiskey," said Wes.
When Matt returned to the Kenyon house two days later after dinner, Wes was dressed in a fine wool suit, the swelling in his face gone down and the bruises faded.
"I calculated you'd come today, Marshal," said Wes. "Doc was here this morning and said I could get up."
"Don't you drink more than two beers," Shona admonished her husband.
"He gets drunk if he has more than two," she explained to Matt.
"Wes and I are blessed to set up shop in a town with a smart lawman, for a change," said Shona. "You're helping Wes so, fixing things wonderfully, Marshal. I see why there's order in Dodge, lively as it is. You reason things through instead of charging around fighting and shooting up the town, like some lawmen."
Matt led Wes across the streets and through the passages between buildings, so they walked most of the way on Front Street, which bustled with folks coming in and out of Dodge House and Delmonico's, and men going to play pool and to the Long Branch. A lot of them looked curiously at Wes walking with the marshal.
"Marshal?" said one man. "He a friend of yours?" Others stopped to listen.
"He is," said Matt. "This is Wes Kenyon. He and his wife just opened an art shop."
"It was closed two days," said Wes. "We will open again tomorrow."
"I seen the place," said another man. "Fine new building called just that. The Art Shoppe."
"Isn't your wife Shona Kenyon?" said a woman, holding her husband's arm.
"Yes, ma'am," said Wes.
"Why, I met her at the dressmaker's," said the woman. "Such a pleasant lady, and so pretty."
"Shona's my inspiration," said Wes. "I can do nothing without her."
"What a lovely thing to say about one's wife," said the woman.
"Well, folks won't trouble you, anymore, young man," said an older gentleman. "Word spreads fast in this town. Folks know better than to bother the marshal's friends, ain't that so, Matt?"
"Wes and I are goin' for a beer," said Matt. "We'll see you folks later."
Walking through the batwings ahead of Matt, Wes smacked into a gambler named Monty Decker, who looked like he'd had a run of bad luck. Reeking of whiskey, he didn't notice the marshal.
"Why, you," Decker grated, and grabbed Wes's coat lapels.
"Let 'im go, Monty," said the marshal.
Decker shoved Wes back against Matt. "There ya go," Monty spat.
He thrust his head forward, peering intently at Wes. "Hey," said the gambler. "You're that odd duck what fell over my boot the other day. I told ya ta stay outa my way then, and I meant it."
"He tripped me purposefully," Wes said to Matt.
"He tripped me purposefully," Monty echoed, imitating Wes's Georgia drawl.
"Leave 'im be, Decker," said Matt. "You put hands on him again, I'll bust your hide. Go home." Matt stepped close to the gambler.
"Easy, easy. I'm goin'." Monty walked unsteadily away.
"Come on, Wes," said Matt.
"Sounded like that Monty Decker give you and Wes some trouble out there, Mr. Dillon," said Chester, who sat at a table with Doc and Kitty. "I was fixin' to go out and see if you needed me."
"That's alright, Chester," said Matt. "Monty didn't get past bluster.
"Hello, Kitty. Doc. I brought Wes in for a beer."
A polished bur oak carving sat in the middle of the table. "It makes an interesting centerpiece, don't you think?" said Kitty.
"You bought a carving from my shop, Miss Kitty," said Wes, smiling so dimples creased his face.
"I went to visit Shona, yesterday," said Kitty. "You were upstairs sleeping, Wes. I told her I wanted a carving that'd get folks talking. I thought it might be good for my business here. Shona opened The Art Shoppe 'specially for me, and I picked this out."
"That's a good piece for talking," said Wes. "At sociables and the like. Shona and I never could think of a name for it."
Matt and Wes sat down at the table. "Two beers, Sam," Kitty called.
Matt lifted the carving, turning it in his hands. The size of a man's hat, the tan wood darkened from oiling, it was a jumble of rounded shapes in different sizes, and soft-edged pyramids and spears.
"What is—. What does it . . . represent?" said Matt.
"It's whatever you see at the time, Marshal," said Wes.
"You don't say," said Doc. "Real sick fella come to me once; I cut out his—"
"Doc," said Kitty.
"Well, maybe not," said Doc. "Ya know, that might be a quarry, by golly. A rock pit, or blasted mine. Just the thing."
"Splendid," said Wes. "It takes wit to think of that, Doc."
"A quarry," said Chester. He tilted his head. "I don't know, Doc."
"You don't know what," said Doc.
"It don't look like no pile of rocks ta me."
"What does it look like to you, then, you know so much about it," said Doc.
"Waal, now, Doc, don't get tetchy," said Chester. "I said I don't know."
Sam appeared at the table and set two beers in front of Matt and Wes. "What on earth is that?" said Sam.
"Wes made it," said Matt.
"That so," said Sam.
Kitty took the carving from Matt and handed it to Sam. "Set it on the end of the bar, will you, Sam?" said Kitty. "Anyone asks about it, tell 'em they can see even stranger things at Wes Kenyon's art shop."
"Yes, please do, Sam," said Wes. "I celebrate strangeness."
"If they throw it around, I'll put an end to the art society in here," said Matt.
"They better not," said Kitty. "I paid sixty-five cents for it."
"I lot of folks hate my work," said Wes. "They burn and break it, and slash it with knives. I haven't much hope for it in a saloon."
"That won't happen in Dodge, Wes," said Matt.
"I don't think the fellas at the bar will break this when they find out Wes Kenyon carved it," said Sam. "They're saying how Wes is a good friend of yours, Marshal."
"Folks won't devil you no more, Wes," said Chester. "They don't me."
"Now, that's truth and no mistake, by golly," said Doc. "We can drink to that one."