Episode 25

Don't Kick a Dog

At that moment a dark-haired man of slender build, with a neatly trimmed mustache and clad in fine clothes, came to the table and greeted the new arrival.

“Bonjour! Welcome to Mercury Wells and especially welcome to The Majestic, Marshal Wiley. I am Marcelle DeGeaux, the owner. I would be honored to serve you your favorite drink sans frais pour vous, bien sûr. On the house, of course.”

“Well, that would be kind of you. Thanks, Mr. DeGeaux. Just a good beer would go down nicely,” Joe said and took DeGeaux’s offered hand. Soft hands. They hadn’t seen much work. The hands of a man used to paying others to do for him.

DeGeaux snapped his fingers at a server and instructed him to fetch a beer.

“We are very happy to have you in our humble town. I want to assure you that I run a clean house from the tables to my ladies,” DeGeaux said. “We need law and order to grow into what our dreams envision. And having a strong lawman is très bien. It is good business, non?”

“Well I’m happy to hear that, Mr. DeGeaux. And I aim to make that happen. So DeGeaux, eh? That’s French. Where you hail from?” Joe asked.

“France itself, monsieur. I was in the French Foreign Legion. I was at the Battle of Camarón under Emperor Maximillian. I made my way from Mexico here to Texas to build a better life,” DeGeaux said.

“That was one hell of a skirmish down Mexico way I’ve heard. Lucky you got out alive,” Joe said. “But it looks like you are succeeding in that new life of yours. And I appreciate you’re making the effort to keep a lid on this place.” His beer arrived. He nodded at the nearest stool man, the one with the shiny revolver.

“But of course. Enjoy yourselves and come back and come often. Bonsoir!” DeGeaux said excusing himself from the table. Joe lifted his mug at the man’s departure.

“French army my dead eyes. I’ve already got word that he is more likely just a coon-ass pimp up from New Orleans putting a luster on himself,” Ben said and made a dismissive noise. “And double bullshit he was at Camarón. Not a single frog-gigger walked away from that tussle.”

Clara Belle stifled another giggle.

“As long as he keeps his nose clean and this place away from trouble I don’t care where he says he came from,” Joe said and drained his mug.

Ben nodded. “Fair enough I reckon. A man’s past don’t matter in this country.”

“Only what he makes of himself,” Joe said, nodding.

“And women?” Clara said, eyes lifting to study the new marshal, lingering on the silver crucifix on its chain.

“Women are like flowers,” Ben said, fingers playing up her thigh. “They are as God made them, a wondrous, unchanging creation and source of delight.”

The whore let out a whooping laugh at that, slapping at the blind man’s exploring hand but only gently.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ll see you back at the Prairie later,” Joe said, rising.

Joe stepped from the heat and noise of the Majestic into the cool night air. As he moved out into the street, he became aware of a group of cowboys giving him the stink eye. Beyond returning their baleful stares with a cold mask of indifference, he ignored them and continued on his way.

As Ben Temple had been known to say: “Don’t kick a dog to see if he’ll bite. Better to assume that he’ll turn on you given the chance.”