• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1853 0

drank or pulled out his pistol and shot someone; a man on a steamboat wouldn’t remove his hat, and another man ragged on him until he removed his hat, to reveal a knife in it. Men of the west liked to enforce social regularity with lots of yelling and insisting. Those who didn’t participate liked to watch to see what might happen. But I didn’t think that woman would have done anything, except maybe give me a sign. I was tempted to go back and find out—she’d had a warm smile, to tell the truth, and a longing for friendship suddenly smote me, but you couldn’t have a letting down when you were in disguise. It made things too complicated.

There was another saloon in the side street where I was standing — no doubt every man in the state was guaranteed by law to a glass and a place at some bar or another — and so I went in there. This one was very dark. It was an old log structure, about twice the size of a claim cabin, with but two small windows, on either side of the door. It took some moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim light after I went in. The darkness gave me a spooky feeling. I could hear and sense others in there but couldn’t tell, really, how many or what they were doing. The bartender greeted me and said, "Step to your right, sir. The bar’s to your right."

I whispered, "You need some light in here."

"Well, sir, our patrons rather prefer this." He had an English accent. "It’s a relief from the outer glare, you know."

"Oh."

"Whiskey?"

No doubt he couldn’t see how young I was. Or maybe he didn’t care.

"Sure," I said. "But mostly I’m looking for someone."

"A gentleman of the imbibing sort?"

"Pardon me?"

"Is your quarry a drinking man?"

"Oh. Yes."

"Name?"

"They changed their name. They killed an abolitionist over in K.T back in june."

"Indeed! And what do you want with these brave fellows?" The bartender’s whisper had come to match mine, which seemed appropriate in such a spot.

"One of ’em’s my pa, and the other two’s my uncle and my cousin. My ma wants ’em."

"Well, now," he said, and set a very small glass of whiskey in front of me. I looked at it. He said, "Will you be needing to chase that, then?"

"Pardon me?"

"Do you prefer to chase your shot of whiskey with a drink of water?"

"Oh. No, thanks."

Another customer came up to the bar, and the bartender walked off into the shadows. I glanced around. No one seemed to be nearby, so I lifted the shot glass to my mouth and touched the liquid in it with my tongue. That or the fumes rising off the liquid sent me into a coughing fit. The bartender returned.

"Unaccustomed to a fine malt, then?" he said.

I continued to cough, and he took away my shot and poured it into a bucket under the bar. I shuddered to think what would become of whatever was in that bucket. Certainly, in Missouri, it would not go to waste.

"Well, now. Tell me a bit more about these members of your family. Men of strong belief and ready action, then, like all the chivalry? Where are you from?"

"Palmyra, Missouri."

"Hmm."

"My cousin’s the easiest to distinguish. He’s about my height, got a pale moon face. Blue eyes, brown hair about down to his shoulders. My pa and my uncle look about alike. They got dark beards and long dark hair."

"That brings so many to mind, you know."

But I sensed that he did know something.

I said, mimicking pride, "An’t everybody’s shot a G— d— abolitionist, though! And my uncle an’t a bashful sort. He would of talked about it."

"Many talk about it who haven’t actually performed the deed, however."

I hadn’t thought of that. The Englishman walked away again, and I adjusted my braces, which I had fixed up a bit better but which were still a nuisance. I was beginning to be able to distinguish things in the dim light, but clearly this was not a saloon where men did anything but drink quietly, their glasses at their fingertips. Any of the other customary Missouri pastimes—gambling, shooting, teasing, bragging, and even spitting— would be nearly impossible in here. The bartender and another man now approached me, and the bartender said, "Allow me to present