Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Blog

Blogathon 2006: Chapter 22.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

Dove was looking for trouble, tired of taking it in the back. Sometimes looking for trouble, bracing up into it, is the only way to survive for another day.

The saloon was his first stop, the swinging doors banging open and the barkeep's face dropping three shades of white when he saw Dove saunter in.

Dove's luck was predictable, depending on how a person viewed a man looking for trouble and what he might find.

Over in the corner was Solitaire; his beady-eyed friend was sitting at a table. Lily stood by, an odd expression on her face as he tipped his hat and mumbled something about still thinking of passin' through.

The barkeep poured him a whiskey and slammed the glass down in front of him. "I don't want no trouble in here today. I can smell it comin' a mile away."

Dove sniffed. "I don't reckon I smell a thing." He picked up the small glass and downed the whiskey before the barkeep could respond. "Pour me another."

Tipping his head towards the corner of the bar where pure rage was being directed his way, Dove spoke up without looking. "What's the name of your rat-faced friend there, Solitaire, and why ain't you sent him away in a pine box yet?"

"I hate rude behavior in a man. I won't tolerate it," Solitaire said, playing the gentleman's card with a straight face.

"You can be sure if I insulted you or your friend, it was intentional."

The small man stood, his hands clumsily reaching for his sides. Solitaire pushed him back in his chair and walked over to the counter where Dove was sitting on his stool, throwing back whiskey.

"Cut him off," he said to the barkeep.

"Pour me another," Dove snapped, his voice raising a notch from the whiskey fueling him. The barkeep nervously poured another glass but Solitaire thrust out his hand and stopped it from reaching Dove.

Lily nervously edged back towrads the corner, the beady-eyed man looking as if he might consider joining her. His guns were for show, hoping no one would call his bluff and never playing the game unless Solitaire was around anyway.

"That's my drink you have." The barkeep backed away from the counter. Solitaire grinned wickedly, pouring the whiskey out on the floor.

"Pour me another," Dove commanded the barkeep who, at this time, decided to refuse. Dove reached across the counter and grabbed the barkeep by the collar of his shirt, jerking his face to within an inch of his own. "I said, pour me another." The barkeep froze, the look on his face unclear as to who he should fear more.

Dove pulled out his pistol, waving it under the barkeep's chin, and looked at Solitaire. "Ain't much of a crime, whackin' a surly bartender, now is it? Is he in your pocket? You'll be paying money out of pocket for his pine box if that be so."

Dove released the barkeep and Solitaire motioned for him to pour the whiskey. "Give him his drink. For now." He turned on his heel, the leather of his boot gouged by a nail jutting from the dilapidated saloon bar, walking back to where his own drink waited, sipping it down slowly while never letting his gaze leave Dove's face.

Dove turned back to his whiskey, figuring he'd shook the can of rattlesnakes good and hard. Now it was just figuring out when they'd strike and being ready for it.

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Labels: blogathon