Return of the Gun. R. B. Conroy

like any other place.” The bartender slid a shot of whiskey in front of Cliff.

      “Wish I could stay long enough to meet some of the folks, but I’m gonna light a shuck out of here in the morning. I’m anxious to see how my vineyard’s doin’.”

      “Well, you don’t need to be in such an all-fired hurry, Jon. That vineyard isn’t going anywhere.”

      “Yeah, I know. I guess I’m just anxious to get there. I’m sure I’ll be back to El Cabrera from time to time for supplies and such. And by the way, Cliff, kinda keep this vineyard thing under your hat for the time being. People will figure it out sooner or later, but for right now I’d like to keep it quiet. I need some time to build a cabin and get things around out there. A man with my reputation can’t be too careful.”

      “My lips are sealed, cus. How about some grub?”

      “Sounds good. I could eat a horse.”

      “Why don’t we go over to that table in the corner of the room and see if we can keep you out of trouble for a while?” Cliff smacked his lips and set the empty shot glass on the table.

      “Lead the way. And please don’t say hi to everybody in the room, okay? I wanna eat before midnight. I’m hungry!”

      “I’ll try, but I’m pretty popular, ya know,” Cliff joked.

      Jon smacked him lightly on the head. “You haven’t changed a bit—still cocky as ever.”

      The men wove across the room to the corner table. As they got near, Jon spoke up. “Mind if I sit against the wall, Cliff? One never knows when some angry relative of one of the men I’ve shot might show up and try to plug me in the back. Just like Jack McCall did to my friend Wild Bill in Deadwood a few years back.”

      “No problem.”

      Cliff waved at the bartender; he hurried over.

      “Howdy, boys.” He looked at Jon. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself when you were at the bar. My name’s Jake, and I guess you’re not too picky about the company you keep,” he joked.

      “Pleasure, Jake,” Jon replied. “And yeah, you’re right—I’m not real picky! I take it you know this hombre.”

      “’Fraid so, and I wish we had more Cliff Stones around here. We would be a lot better off.”

      “That goes both ways, Jake,” replied the younger cousin.

      “Well, as soon as you fellas get done with your love fest,” Jon grunted, “I’d like to order some grub.”

      “Sorry, partner. What’s your pleasure? I got a bunch of T-bones on the grill, and they’re really tender tonight.”

      “Sounds good!” the two old friends said in unison.

      “Bring us a bottle of your best whiskey, Jake, and put it on my tab,” Cliff ordered.

      “Will do, Cliff. The steaks’ll be up shortly.” Jake hurried over to the bar and returned promptly with a bottle of whiskey and a couple of shot glasses. He splashed the brownish spirits into the thick glasses, set the bottle down and scurried off.

      The whiskey kept flowing as the two old friends began to reminisce about the old days as kids back in Indiana. Soon they were conversing quite freely, laughing and joking about their days working and playing on the lush farmlands of the Midwest.

      “The way you took on those boys in front of the Dead End today didn’t surprise me at all, Jon. You were never one to mess with, even as a kid. I guess I can kinda understand how ya got your reputation and all—must be nice to be well known.”

      “Not really,” Jon frowned. “That reputation isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Like I said earlier, I never know when some lowlife’s gonna try to put a bullet in my back for killin’ some friend or relative of his. And then there’s the youngsters looking for a reputation at my expense. I gotta be on my toes all the time.”

      “Hmmm…,” Cliff replied. “Like the old saying goes, ‘walk a mile in my boots.’”

      “Guess so.”

      “Dinner’s served!” Jake announced as the steaming T-bones hit the table.

      Jon inhaled deeply; the big T-bone steak with fried potatoes, pinto beans and onions sure smelled great after weeks of biscuits, bacon and beef jerky.

      “Thanks, Jake,” Cliff said. The conversation stalled as the hungry men dove into the tasty vittles.

      - - - - -

      The fork rattled as Jon dropped it on the empty plate. He leaned back, reached inside his vest pocket and pulled out a cigar. Looking contented, he bit off the tip, struck a match along his jeans, leaned down and took a couple of hard drags.

      “Don’t mind if I do,” Cliff barked.

      Slightly embarrassed, Jon looked over at Cliff. “Sorry.” Jon dug another cigar out of his vest pocket and tossed it to Cliff. The red embers burned brightly as Jon took a hard drag and pointed the hot end at Cliff. Cliff leaned forward, his cheeks pruned as the hot coals spread to his cigar. The smoke curled above his head as he exhaled. “Good cigar,” he sighed. He carefully picked a loose piece of tobacco from his tongue and flipped it onto the wood floor. “You were always chasin’ the girls as a youngster, Jon. I’m surprised some sweet little filly hasn’t got a rope around you by now.”

      “Marriage just never seemed in the cards for me, Cliff. Bouncin’ around the way I do, it just didn’t seem right. Until—”

      An interested Cliff interrupted. “Until what?”

      “Until I finally found a girl that could put up with me. She’s from down Arizona way, and she’s pretty as a picture. Elizabeth’s her name, but I call her Libby. She did a darn good job of meltin’ this ole heart of mine.”

      “I hope to meet her someday.”

      “You’ll get your chance. Soon as I get things squared away out at the vineyard, I’m going to send for her.”

      “Here’s to Libby.” Cliff raised his glass, and the two men downed the shots.

      “How about you, Cliff? Anybody round here kind of trippin’ your trigger?” Jon spilled more whiskey into the empty glasses.

      “Naw, not really. I’ve done my share of courting since I been here, but so far nothing’s really worked out.”

      “That Maggie Callahan’s a good looker. How ‘bout her?”

      Cliff squirmed in his seat. “Maggie and I took a couple buggy rides, had a couple a dinners together, that’s all. Nothin’ ever came of it.”

      “Oh well, there’s other fish in the pond.” Jon could tell he had hit a sore spot with Maggie. It was obvious that Cliff had stronger feelings for her than he was letting on.

      Not surprisingly, Cliff seemed anxious to change the subject. “Traveling like you do, I’ll bet you’ve ran into some well known gunslingers along the way. You said earlier you knew Wild Bill.”

      “Oh yeah, I’ve met a few. Like everybody else who gets around.”

      “Ever gone one on one with any of ’em?” Cliff’s eyebrows rose.

      “Not really. We kind of avoid fighting one another—kind of a mutual respect thing, I guess. Plus, when you fight someone like John Wesley Hardin, there’s a good chance you’re gonna end up dead.”

      Cliff pushed on. “I don’t get around much anymore, Jon. I kinda been stuck here in El Cabrera for a number of years. It can get plenty rowdy around here at times, but for the most part it’s just the same ole, same ole. I could sure use a good story. How about it?”

      Jon grimaced. His mother always taught him it was impolite to talk about oneself, but