“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse, Andre,” Pearlie said, straining in his chair trying to look and see what the platters held.
“That is good, my friend, for I have just acquired a new supply of frog legs and escargot from my supplier in Denver this very morning.”
Pearlie made a face and sat back in his chair. “Uh, Andre, no offense, but I think I’ll just skip the frog legs and try some of that es-car-go, or whatever it is. It shore smells good, I’ll tell you that.”
“And I assure you, Monsieur, it will be a taste you will never forget, especially when you dip the little creatures in the melted butter I’ve made.”
“Uh . . . did you say somethin’ ‘bout little creatures, Andre, or did I misunderstand?” Pearlie asked, his face suddenly showing signs of suspicion.
“Mais oui, Pearlie, I did say creatures.”
“But, Andre. Just what are es-car-go?”
“Snails, my friend, large, plump, juicy snails,” Andre replied.
Pearlie put his hand over his mouth and started to get up from the table until he saw what was on the platter the waiter was setting down.
He grinned and pointed. “That looks like beefsteak to me, Andre.”
Everyone at the table laughed, even Pearlie, and they all grabbed knives and forks and dug in.
FOUR
Macklin took Jacoby by his hotel, arranged for him to get a room there and dropped off his luggage, and then showed him to a restaurant that served both liquor and food.
While they drank a glass of whiskey and waited for their food orders to arrive, Jacoby told Macklin about the gunfight on the train between Jensen and his friends and the outlaws who’d outnumbered them.
Jacoby shook his head and drained his glass, sleeving whiskey off his lips with his arm. “It was the damnedest thing I ever seen, Mac,” he said, his eyes wide with wonder. “One minute Jensen an’ his friends are standing there in front of maybe ten outlaws, an’ ‘fore you could spit, they hands was full of iron and they was blasting the shit outta those hombres.”
“Just because a man’s an outlaw don’t necessarily mean he’s fast on the draw, Carl.”
“That’s just it, Mac. All of them bandits already had their guns in their hands when Jensen and his men drew down on ‘em.”
“And you’re sayin’ none of those outlaws managed to draw any blood?”
Jacoby held his glass up and pointed at it so the waiter would bring him another. “That’s just what I’m saying, Mac. Jensen and his men walked away from that fracas clean as a whistle. And what was even more funny is they didn’t wait for the bandits to make a play at them or try to take their money. They went looking for the outlaws as if they kind’a enjoyed the thought of a good fight.”
Macklin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Jacoby. “Just what are you sayin’, Carl? You sayin’ Jensen is faster on the draw that Johnny MacDougal was?” he asked, his face showing his doubt that such could be the case.
“Hey, Mac, I’m telling you the truth,” Jacoby insisted. “I know Johnny was fast with a six-killer ‘cause I’ve drawed against him in contests before, but Jensen is faster, by a long shot!”
Macklin stroked his jaw as he let his eyes drop to stare into his whiskey. “So, you think it may’ve been a fair fight when Jensen shot Johnny down in Pueblo?” he asked, keeping his voice low so the nearby diners wouldn’t hear him mention Jensen’s name.
Jacoby shrugged. “Hell, I weren’t there, Mac, so’s I can’t say for certain. All I know is Jensen could snatch a quarter off’n a rattler’s head and leave two dimes an’ a nickel in change ‘fore the snake could strike.” He raised his hand to the waiter and indicated he wanted another drink and he wanted it fast. All this talk about how fast Jensen was with a gun was making him nervous. Sweat formed on his forehead when he remembered how he’d once planned on bracing Jensen himself.
After the waiter placed two more glasses on the table in front of them, Jacoby glanced down at the way Macklin was wearing his gun low on his right hip. “And by the way, Mac,” he said, pausing to take a deep draught of his drink, “I’ve seen you draw before too. So if you’re planning on going up against Jensen, you’d better plan on shooting him in the back from a long way off, or I’ll be taking your dead body back to Pueblo with me when I leave this burg.”
Macklin’s face flushed and he gritted his teeth for a sharp retort, but was interrupted by the waiter reappearing with a platter containing their food orders on it in his hands. When the waiter left, Jacoby, who’d noticed the angry expression on Macklin’s face when he warned him not to try and outdraw Jensen, wisely decided to change the subject before Macklin got really pissed off.
He cut his steak and stuck a piece in his mouth, asking around it, “You been here long enough to ask around, so what is Jensen’s reputation in his town?”
Macklin busied himself with cutting his own steak and didn’t look up at the question, though he snorted derisively through his nose. “Hell, around here they think he’s better than homemade apple pie,” he answered. “I couldn’t find a single person in this entire town had a bad word to say about Jensen or the men riding with him.” He stuck the meat in his mouth and added, “Hell, seems Jensen himself founded this town some years ago, so naturally nobody’s gonna say nothing against him.”
Jacoby sighed. “That’s what I was figured you’d say,” he said as he used his fork to rake some corn onto his knife and then stuffed it into his mouth. “From what I seen on the train, Jensen is pretty much a square shooter,” he added as he chewed thoughtfully.
Macklin shrugged and asked, “So what? Angus MacDougal didn’t send us here to check out his character. He sent us here to let him know when he got home an’ possibly to put a bullet in him and his friends.”
“But Mac,” Jacoby said, shoving his plate to the side and leaning forward, “what if his fight with Johnny was fair an’ it was like they said, that Johnny fired off shots at them first? Hell, we all know what an asshole Johnny could be when he was all liquored up.”
“Don’t make no never mind to me what happened back in Pueblo,” Macklin answered, his eyes burning. “All I know is Johnny and the others that died with him were friends of mine, an’ I aim to see Jensen in his grave for what he done to them!” He paused for a moment, staring at Jacoby as if he were an enemy instead of one of his oldest friends. “An’ I aim to do it with you or without you, Carl, so don’t be getting in my way or you’re liable to catch some lead too.”
Jacoby snarled back, “Don’t go playin’ the big man with me, Mac. Remember, I seen you draw before an’ I ain’t all that certain you could take me, even if you was crazy enough to try.”
“Well, then, how ‘bout I put it like this. Old Man MacDougal been pretty good to both of us, it seems, so if’n he wants Jensen dead, for whatever reason, it’s plenty good enough for me.”
Jacoby started to reply, but Macklin added, “And what do you think Sarah is gonna say when she hears you’ve gone all soft and sweet on Jensen, the man what killed her baby brother?”
Jacoby let his eyes drop to what remained of his meal, his appetite squashed by the question. “Maybe if I explain to her that—”
“Explain what?” Macklin burst out. “That the man who put six slugs in her little brother after bashing out his front teeth is really a nice feller and we should just forget about the whole thing?”
Jacoby leaned his head back and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, trying to ease the sudden pain there that Macklin was causing. “You’re right, Mac, she’ll never understand,” he said wearily. “She’s like her father. She don’t never forget a slight, and she sure as hell won’t care what I think about Jensen’s character, that’s for sure.”