Standoff in Santa Fe Read Free Page A

all are.”
    Heck accepted the beer and said, “Looks like quite a wake.”
    â€œIt will be,” Reeves said. “So far all I’ve seen are lawmen or ex-lawmen. Some of the guest of honor’s other compadres are gonna have to show up.”
    No sooner had Reeves spoken than the batwings opened and a man walked in. He stopped just inside the doors and looked around. When he saw the four men standing at the bar, he stared and then walked over.
    â€œAm I gonna have any trouble with any of you badge toters because I’m here for a wake?” John Wesley Hardin asked.
    â€œNot me,” Clint said. “I’m not wearing a badge.”
    â€œNeither am I right now,” Heck Thomas said.
    â€œI’m just playin’ cards while I wait for the wake,” Bat said.
    Hardin looked at Bass Reeves, whose badge was still on his chest. The two men stared at each other for a few moments.
    â€œFar as I know,” Reeves said, “Judge Smith ain’t put a warrant out on you. That’s all I care about.”
    â€œWell, all right,” Hardin said, and moved down the bar. Several men got out of his way to allow him access to the bar. Hardin ordered whiskey.
    â€œTalk about a situation,” Reeves said. “When some other hothead gets here, there could be a problem.”
    â€œHardin’s okay,” Clint said. “He won’t go looking for trouble.”
    â€œAin’t he the one they say shot a man for snorin’?” Heck Thomas asked.
    â€œThat’s not lookin’ for trouble,” Bat said. “That’s just tryin’ to get some sleep.”
    â€œI wonder if the local lawman will be smart enough to stay away,” Reeves said.
    â€œI talked to him,” Clint said. “I don’t think he’ll come out of his office.”
    â€œSmart man,” Heck said.
    â€œAnother drink?” Clint asked.
    They all said yes.
    *   *   *
    â€œOh, Lord,” Reeves said about half an hour later.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Clint asked.
    â€œThe fella who just came in.”
    They all turned and looked. The man certainly looked like a hard case, wore his gun low on his hip, scanned the crowd with knowing eyes, and then approached the bar.
    â€œKnow ’im?” Heck asked.
    â€œJim Miller,” Reeves said.
    â€œKillin’ Jim Miller,” Clint said.
    â€œIf he sees Hardin . . .” Heck Thomas said.
    â€œOr Bass’s badge,” Bat said.
    â€œIt’s a wake, boys,” Clint said. “Nobody’s looking for trouble.”
    â€œYeah,” Reeves said, “but Jim Miller and Wes Hardin in the same saloon? Gotta be trouble.”
    â€œThat’s what some folks would say about us,” Clint pointed out.
    â€œWe’re not hotheaded gunhands,” Bat said.
    â€œWe know that,” Clint said, “but what do our reputations say?”
    â€œJeez,” Heck said, “they’re comin’ in hot and heavy now.”
    The doors had swung in again and a well-dressed, diminutive-looking dude entered.
    â€œLuke Short,” Bat said. “Talk about hotheads.”
    â€œDidn’t he gun down Jim Courtwright recently?” Heck asked.
    â€œIn Fort Worth,” Clint said. “Yeah.”
    â€œIs he gonna be lookin’ for trouble?” Reeves asked.
    â€œNo,” Clint said, “he’ll be lookin’ for a poker game.”
    â€œYou can say that again,” Bat said.
    Clint and Bat were both good friends with Luke Short, so when the man saw them, he came over with a grin on his face and his hand out.
    â€œGood to see you, Luke,” Clint said, shaking his hand. “Do you know Heck Thomas and Bass Reeves?”
    â€œI’ve met Heck,” Luke said with a nod, “heard of Bass Reeves. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.
    â€œHave a drink,” Clint said. “On me.”
    â€œDon’t mind if I