‘‘I reckon you’re right about that, Fargo. I was just thinkin’ the same thing.’’
‘‘Is there a problem?’’ Grayson asked.
‘‘Not so far,’’ Fargo told him. ‘‘We want it to stay that way.’’
They went on with their meal, and the men at the bar continued drinking. Jimmy asked, ‘‘Did you ever hear about the big shoot-out between Joaquin Murrieta and Captain Harry Love, Mr. Fargo? They say Joaquin was killed during the battle between his men and Captain Love’s rangers, but I don’t believe it. That head in the jar they said was Joaquin’s couldn’t have been his.’’
‘‘I’ve met Harry Love, Jimmy,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘He claims it really was Joaquin’s head, and Captain Love is an honorable man. I’d be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.’’
Jimmy shook his head. ‘‘Nope. Joaquin was too slick a bandit to get caught like that. I’ll bet he’s down in Mexico right now, livin’ the good life.’’
Fargo smiled. It wouldn’t do any harm to indulge the youngster. ‘‘Maybe you’re right, Jimmy,’’ he said.
‘‘I’m gonna get some more beans,’’ Jimmy said as he pushed back his chair and stood up.
‘‘Go easy on them things,’’ Sandy called after him as Jimmy started toward the bar. ‘‘You’ll be playin’ the bugle all night.’’ He glanced at Belinda, who was blushing. ‘‘Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.’’
As Jimmy approached the bar, one of the men standing there turned away, and his action put him right in Jimmy’s path. Their shoulders collided.
‘‘Damn it!’’ the man burst out. ‘‘Watch where you’re goin’, you stupid bastard.’’
‘‘Uh-oh,’’ Sandy said under his breath.
Fargo had already taken note of what was going on and wasn’t surprised by it. He had thought ever since the men entered the cantina that they might be here to cause trouble. They had been waiting for the right opportunity—and Jimmy had just given it to them.
‘‘I’m sorry, mister,’’ the youngster said. ‘‘I didn’t mean to run into you. But come to think of it, it was really you who run into me.’’
The man glared at him. ‘‘What the hell did you just say?’’
‘‘I said it was you who run into me. But that’s all right. Wasn’t no harm done.’’
‘‘I’ll be the one to say whether or not any harm was done,’’ the man replied, sticking out his jaw in a belligerent fashion. ‘‘And I don’t like it when some half-wit kid argues with me.’’
Jimmy frowned. ‘‘I ain’t no half-wit. I just ain’t had much schoolin’, and I never learned to think so good.’’
‘‘You’re a damn stupid jackass—that’s what you are.’’
Over at the table, Grayson watched the confrontation with a worried frown on his face and said, ‘‘Skye, shouldn’t we do something about this?’’
‘‘I intend to,’’ Fargo said as he rose to his feet. He glanced down at the jehu. ‘‘Sandy?’’
‘‘Don’t worry,’’ Sandy said as he touched the butt of the heavy cap-and-ball pistol he carried in a crossdraw holster on his left hip. ‘‘I’ll keep an eye on them other varmints.’’
Fargo nodded and walked toward the bar. The hardcase was still cursing Jimmy, and as Fargo approached, the man gave the youngster a hard shove.
Jimmy caught his balance before he fell. His face was twisted up like he didn’t know whether to get mad or cry. ‘‘Hey!’’ he said. ‘‘I told you I was sorry, mister. You got no call to get rough with me.’’
‘‘You said it was my fault,’’ the man rasped. ‘‘I’m gonna teach you—’’
‘‘You’re not going to teach him anything,’’ Fargo said as he stepped between Jimmy and the hardcase. ‘‘But he could teach you something, hombre . . . like how to be a decent human being.’’
‘‘Who the hell are you?’’
If the man was working for Hiram Stoddard, chances were he already knew who Fargo was. But Fargo answered
‘‘Is there a problem?’’ Grayson asked.
‘‘Not so far,’’ Fargo told him. ‘‘We want it to stay that way.’’
They went on with their meal, and the men at the bar continued drinking. Jimmy asked, ‘‘Did you ever hear about the big shoot-out between Joaquin Murrieta and Captain Harry Love, Mr. Fargo? They say Joaquin was killed during the battle between his men and Captain Love’s rangers, but I don’t believe it. That head in the jar they said was Joaquin’s couldn’t have been his.’’
‘‘I’ve met Harry Love, Jimmy,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘He claims it really was Joaquin’s head, and Captain Love is an honorable man. I’d be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.’’
Jimmy shook his head. ‘‘Nope. Joaquin was too slick a bandit to get caught like that. I’ll bet he’s down in Mexico right now, livin’ the good life.’’
Fargo smiled. It wouldn’t do any harm to indulge the youngster. ‘‘Maybe you’re right, Jimmy,’’ he said.
‘‘I’m gonna get some more beans,’’ Jimmy said as he pushed back his chair and stood up.
‘‘Go easy on them things,’’ Sandy called after him as Jimmy started toward the bar. ‘‘You’ll be playin’ the bugle all night.’’ He glanced at Belinda, who was blushing. ‘‘Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.’’
As Jimmy approached the bar, one of the men standing there turned away, and his action put him right in Jimmy’s path. Their shoulders collided.
‘‘Damn it!’’ the man burst out. ‘‘Watch where you’re goin’, you stupid bastard.’’
‘‘Uh-oh,’’ Sandy said under his breath.
Fargo had already taken note of what was going on and wasn’t surprised by it. He had thought ever since the men entered the cantina that they might be here to cause trouble. They had been waiting for the right opportunity—and Jimmy had just given it to them.
‘‘I’m sorry, mister,’’ the youngster said. ‘‘I didn’t mean to run into you. But come to think of it, it was really you who run into me.’’
The man glared at him. ‘‘What the hell did you just say?’’
‘‘I said it was you who run into me. But that’s all right. Wasn’t no harm done.’’
‘‘I’ll be the one to say whether or not any harm was done,’’ the man replied, sticking out his jaw in a belligerent fashion. ‘‘And I don’t like it when some half-wit kid argues with me.’’
Jimmy frowned. ‘‘I ain’t no half-wit. I just ain’t had much schoolin’, and I never learned to think so good.’’
‘‘You’re a damn stupid jackass—that’s what you are.’’
Over at the table, Grayson watched the confrontation with a worried frown on his face and said, ‘‘Skye, shouldn’t we do something about this?’’
‘‘I intend to,’’ Fargo said as he rose to his feet. He glanced down at the jehu. ‘‘Sandy?’’
‘‘Don’t worry,’’ Sandy said as he touched the butt of the heavy cap-and-ball pistol he carried in a crossdraw holster on his left hip. ‘‘I’ll keep an eye on them other varmints.’’
Fargo nodded and walked toward the bar. The hardcase was still cursing Jimmy, and as Fargo approached, the man gave the youngster a hard shove.
Jimmy caught his balance before he fell. His face was twisted up like he didn’t know whether to get mad or cry. ‘‘Hey!’’ he said. ‘‘I told you I was sorry, mister. You got no call to get rough with me.’’
‘‘You said it was my fault,’’ the man rasped. ‘‘I’m gonna teach you—’’
‘‘You’re not going to teach him anything,’’ Fargo said as he stepped between Jimmy and the hardcase. ‘‘But he could teach you something, hombre . . . like how to be a decent human being.’’
‘‘Who the hell are you?’’
If the man was working for Hiram Stoddard, chances were he already knew who Fargo was. But Fargo answered
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