“I’ll give you this,” Pearlie said. “You’re good at it. I’ve seen a lot of drivers in my life, and you are the best.”
“Well, thank you, boy, I appreciate that,” Ben said as he pulled the coach into the depot, then halted the horses and set the brake.
“Here we are, folks!” he shouted down to the passengers.
Pearlie climbed down, then opened the door to help the passengers out. After all had exited the coach, he climbed back up to gather up the rifle and shotgun, then went inside the depot and put the weapons into the rack.
“No trouble?” the dispatcher asked.
“Not a bit.”
After putting his two weapons in the gun rack, Pearlie started toward the door.
“You going down to the cantina, are you?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yeah, I thought I might.”
Under the soft, golden light of three gleaming chandeliers, the atmosphere in the Casa de la Suerte Cantina was quite congenial. Half a dozen men—Mexican and American—stood at one end of the bar, engaged in friendly conversation, while at the other end, the barkeep stayed busy cleaning glasses. Most of the tables were filled with vaqueros or cowboys, laborers, and storekeepers laughing over stories they exchanged, or flirting with the niñas del bar whose presence added to the agreeable atmosphere.
“Señor Pearlie, do you want a tequila?” the bartender asked.
“Yeah, you may as well give me one, Manuel.”
The bartender laughed. “I remember when only beer you would drink.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve ruined me,” Pearlie said.
Pearlie was standing at the end of the bar, nursing a tequila, when one of the girls sidled up to him. She had long black hair and was wearing a low-cut red dress that showed a generous amount of cleavage.
“Tú vas a beber a solas, Señor Pearlie?” she asked.
“Come on, Rosita. You know I don’t comprehend your lingo that well,” Pearlie replied.
“I asked if you were going to drink alone.”
Pearlie smiled. “Not if I can get a pretty girl like you to drink with me,” he said. He looked toward the bartender. “Manuel, tequila for the beautiful Rosita, por favor.”
As she waited for the drink, Rosita reached up to remove Pearlie’s hat. She touched the band, which gleamed brightly in the soft light of the cantina.
“Plata,” she said.
“What?”
“The hatband. It is silver.”
“Yes.”
“It is beautiful. Where did you get it?”
“It isn’t mine,” Pearlie said. “It belongs to a friend. I borrowed it.”
“He must be a very good friend to let you borrow such a beautiful thing.”
“Yeah,” Pearlie said as he looked at the hatband for a moment. “He is a very good friend.”
“It is a good thing to have buenos amigos.”
“Sí, it is very good to have friends.”
Rosita smiled. “I am your friend, am I not?”
The tequila was delivered, and Pearlie picked it up and handed to her. “Sí,” he said. “You are my friend.”
“What is your friend’s name?”
“The one who gave me the hatband is Cal. But I have two more very good friends. Smoke and Sally.”
“Humo?” Rosita asked, her face registering confusion at the name. “You have a friend who is named Humo?” She made the motion as if smoking. “Smoke?”
“His real name is Kirby, but everyone calls him Smoke.”
“That is a funny name. Does he smoke mucho?”
“No. I don’t know why everyone calls him Smoke.”
“And Sally? She is your woman?”
“No, she is Smoke’s wife.”
“I am glad she is Smoke’s wife. You do not have a wife, no?”
The smile left Pearlie’s face, to be replaced by an expression of great sadness. He tossed down the rest of his drink.
“No,” he said. “I do not have a wife.”
Whether it was a byproduct of her profession, or inherent in Rosita’s personality, she was a very perceptive young woman, and she saw immediately that her question had caused Pearlie some pain. She put her hand on his arm.
“You had a wife but something bad happened, yes?”
“Yes,” Pearlie said. “She—she died.” He did not go into the details of how Lucy died, but whether it was to spare Rosita or himself, he wasn’t sure.
“I am very sorry, Señor Pearlie,” Rosita said. “I did not wish to cause you sorrow.”
“That’s all right,” Pearlie replied. “It’s been a while now.”
“Is that why you are here, and not with your friends? Because being with your friends brings too much sadness?”
Pearlie nodded, but didn’t speak.
“Señor Pearlie, I think maybe you should go to your friends now,” Rosita said. “I think if you were with your friends, things will be better for you.”
Pearlie was surprised by Rosita’s comment, but he knew as soon as she spoke that she was right. It was time to get back to his friends, to start living his life again, and to put the hurt and the sorrow behind him. He didn’t want to put Lucy behind him, not now, not ever. For the rest of his life she would occupy a part of his heart. But life must go on.
He finished his drink and put his hat back on his head. “Rosita, you are right,” he said. “I think soon I will go home.”
“Vayas con Dios, Señor Pearlie,” Rosita said.
Pearlie could feel the young woman’s eyes staring at the back of his neck as he pushed through beaded curtains that hung over the door of the cantina.
It would be good to get back home. He would leave as soon as Montgomery could find a replacement for him.
Because the next day was Saturday, there was no stage run. Pearlie was having his lunch at the City Pig Café when two men came in. One of the men was C.D. Montgomery, the owner of the stage line. Pearlie had no idea who the man with Montgomery was, but the man was wearing a three-piece suit, so Pearlie assumed he was a man of some importance.
“There he is,” Montgomery said, pointing out Pearlie. As the two approached his table, Pearlie stood.
“Young man, my name is Kyle Abernathy. I’m with the New Mexico Mining Company. A couple of weeks ago, you saved our money shipment, and I want to thank you personally.”
Abernathy stuck out his hand and Pearlie took it. “Well, I appreciate you coming here to thank me, but I was just doing my job.”
“Yes, sir, and doing it very well, too, if I may say so,” Abernathy said. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you, Pearlie. A little expression of our thanks.”
Pearlie looked inside the envelope and saw several bills. “You—you didn’t have to do that,” he said.
Abernathy laughed. “It’s two hundred and fifty dollars,” he said. He reached for it. “But if you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.”
“No, no, I wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful. I’ll keep it,” Pearlie said, pulling the money back, and both Abernathy and Montgomery laughed.
“I’m sorry we interrupted your lunch, but I just wanted to see you to thank you,” Abernathy said.
“Anyone can interrupt my lunch anytime for something like this,” Pearlie said with a chuckle.
The following Friday, after returning from his run, Pearlie saw Montgomery sitting at his desk, working on a ledger book.
“Have you changed your mind?” Montgomery asked.
“No, sir,” Pearlie replied. “I think it’s about time I went home. And I’ll be honest with you. When Mr. Abernathy gave me that money, it made it a lot easier.”
Montgomery laughed. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “That’s why I almost told Abernathy not to give it to you. I wanted to keep you on. You’ve been a good man.”
“I appreciate that. But I think Tony will make you a good employee. And with a wife and baby, he needs the job.”