The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [246]
Wayman said to the other two Circle-Eye riders, “Macon can’t get over it.”
Macon’s gaze came away from the window. “It was your brother got killed.”
Wayman said, “I know he did.”
Macon said, “You don’t care?”
The Circle-Eye riders watched him let his chair come down to hit the floor hard. They watched him get up without another word and walk out.
“I never thought much of coloreds,” one of the Circle-Eye riders said, “but you never hear me take on about ’em like Macon. What’s his trouble?”
“I guess he wants to shoot somebody,” Wayman said. “The time he shot that chili picker in Nogales? Macon worked hisself up to it the same way.”
CATLETT WATCHED the one that was looking for a fight come through the doors and go to the claybank, the reins looped once around the tie rail. He didn’t touch the reins, though. What he did was reach into a saddlebag and bring out what Catlett judged to be a Colt .44 pistol. Right then he heard:
“Only guests of the hotel are allowed to sit out here.”
Catlett watched the cowboy checking his loads now, turning the cylinder of his six-shooter, the metal catching a glint of light from the sun, though the look of the pistol was dull and it appeared to be an old model.
Monty the desk clerk, standing there looking at Catlett without getting too close, said, “You’ll have to leave… right now.”
The cowboy was looking this way.
Making up his mind, Catlett believed. All right, now, yeah, he’s made it up.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Catlett took time to look at Monty and then pointed off down the street. He said, “You see that young fella coming this way with the pistol? He think he like to shoot me. Say you don’t allow people to sit here aren’t staying at the ho-tel. How about, you allow them to get shot if they not a guest?”
He watched the desk clerk, who didn’t seem to know whether to shit or go blind, eyes wide open, turn and run back in the lobby.
The cowboy, Macon, stood in the middle of the street now holding the six-shooter against his leg.
CATLETT, STILL seated in the rocker, said, “You a mean rascal, ain’t you? Don’t take no sass, huh?”
The cowboy said something agreeing that Catlett didn’t catch, the cowboy looking over to see his friends coming up the street now from the barroom. When he looked at the hotel porch again, Catlett was standing at the railing, his bedroll upright next to him leaning against it.
“I can be a mean rascal too,” Catlett said, unbuttoning his suit coat. “I want you to know that before you take this too far. You understand?”
“You insulted Colonel Roosevelt and his Rough Riders,” the cowboy said, “and you insulted Wayman’s brother, killed in action over there in Cuba.”
“How come,” Catlett said, “you weren’t there?”
“I was ready, don’t worry, when the war ended. But we’re talking about you. I say you’re a dirty lying nigger and have no respect for people better’n you are. I want you to apologize to the colonel and his men and to Wayman’s dead brother….”
“Or what?” Catlett said.
“Answer to me,” the cowboy said. “Are you armed? You aren’t, you better get yourself a pistol.”
“You want to shoot me,” Catlett said, “ ’cause I went to Cuba and you didn’t.”
The cowboy was shaking his head. “ ’Cause you lied. Have you got a pistol or not?”
Catlett said, “You calling me out, huh? You want us to fight a duel?”
“Less you apologize. Else get a pistol.”
“But if I’m the one being called out, I have my choice of weapons, don’t I? That’s how I seen it work, twenty-four years in the U.S. Army in two wars. You hear what I’m saying?”
The cowboy was frowning now beneath his hat brim, squinting up at Bo Catlett. He said, “Pistols, it’s what you use.”
Catlett nodded. “If I say so.”
“Well, what else is there?”
Confused and getting a mean look.
Catlett slipped his hand into the upright end of his bedroll and began to tug at something inside—the cowboy watching, the Circle-Eye riders in the