"Quite a come-up from the tent saloon you had over in the basin."
Pinky laid a hand on the bar, a hand that was missing the three fingers
between the little one and the thumb. The bloodshot eyes were fixed on
Tesno's face. "You'd like to bust me down to nothin' again, wouldn't
you, Mr. Tesno?"
"Depends," Tesno said.
"You wouldn't do it here. This is a patented town. I got important
people behind me. The authorities will protect me."
"You're rushing things," Tesno said. "I haven't hired out yet."
"You will," Pinky said. "Vickers will meet your price and you'll hire
on. I hope you do. You've been riding for a fall for a long time."
The bloodshot eyes shifted briefly. Tesno was aware of a man standing
a few feet to his left. He turned slowly and saw a lean, dark-eyed
young man dressed to present the general aspect of a barber pole. He
wore black boots, trousers, and hat, and a silk shirt with wide pink
stripes. The ivory handle of a revolver curved out from his hip like a
misplaced tusk. A badge gleamed on his chest. He took a step forward,
right hand resting on gun handle.
"You can't wear a gun in this town, cowboy," he said sternly.
Tesno squarely turned his back and picked up his drink. Pinky Bronklin
looked faintly amused now.
"This here is town marshal Pete Madrid," Pinky said. "Meet Jack Tesno,
Pete. The famous bully-boy."
"I don't care who he is," Pete Madrid said with an ugly purr in his
voice. "He's got ten seconds to shuck that gun."
Tesno tossed down his drink and set the glass on the bar. "Town
ordinance?"
"You might say so. Five seconds, cowboy."
Tesno had a lopsided grin that brought a dimple to his left cheek and
none to his right. He flashed it on Pinky now and moved his hands to
the buckle of his gunbelt. He let the belt fall free and swung it
toward Madrid, still not looking at him. The marshal caught the belt
with a little flourish and stepped up to the bar.
"How about the house buying, Pinky," he said in a new tone. Hostility
seemed to have left him.
"No thanks," Tesno said.
"No hard feelings," Madrid said.
"None. When I start drawing Ben Vickers' pay, I'll be around for that
gun."
"Sure," Madrid said. "Just don't wear it in town."
"Depends," Tesno said.
"I'd just take it off you again."
"No. If I put it on again, you won't take it off me." Tesno flashed the
lopsided grin and walked out of the saloon.
Pinky poured Madrid a drink. "Congratulations, Pete. It takes a man to
face down that ringtail."
Madrid laid Tesno's gunbelt on the bar, trying not to seem too pleased
with himself. "Wish the man had been friendlier. I like to get along
with everybody. Makes my job easier."
"He ain't the friendly kind," Pinky said.
"You tangled with him before?"
"Idaho. I had a tent saloon; big wall tent, cost me four hundred
dollars. Had another thousand in liquor and gambling equipment. Set up
close to a construction camp. Tesno come along, said to move. I had
a territorial license and wouldn't do it. He knocked down the tent
and worked it over with a disc harrow. Nothing left but a pile of
whisky-soaked rags."
"You should have blasted him," Madrid said. "Law would have been on
your side."
"It would? Listen, four reservation bucks come along, wrung out the
rags, and got crazy drunk. Tesno brought out the sheriff, and I got
arrested for peddling booze to Indians!"
"Hell of a thing," Madrid said, picking up the gunbelt and moving away.
"Well, I got work to do."
Pinky knew what he meant. There were folks who ought to be notified
that Tesno was in town.