Part 2

He posted his horse and went inside, ordering a goodly portion of those comestibles which had haunted his imagination during the past month of wandering. He also ordered a brace of eggs--but he didn’t eat them. He merely summoned them out of the kitchen so that he might not forget what eggs looked like. The rest of the meal vanished and was duly paid for, though Indigo never got so engrossed in his feeding as not to observe certain other patrons closely examining him. It was not a new experience to Indigo; he stared grimly at the bottom of his coffee cup and reminded himself that Joe had bade him be peaceful. Having polished off a second mug of coffee, he repaired to the sidewalk and aimed his footsteps toward the mellow lights of the saloon.

“It don’t tickle my humor none to be gawped at,” he grumbled.

“Just a minute, brother.”

He had arrived in front of the saloon. A pair of fellows slipped through the shadows, flanking him. He saw others standing on the porch, watching this move.

“Step inside a minute. We’d like to pass a few words.”

“My time is my own,” stated Indigo, with commendable restraint. “If you got anything on yore chest, boost it off.”

“Step inside.”

“Why should I?”

“Why shouldn’t yuh?” Something unmistakably metallic kissed Indigo’s backbone. Always recognizing the moral force of the drop, Indigo stoked his temper with a few inflammable thoughts and passed into the hotel room, to be quickly surrounded by a small crowd. One particular individual with General Grant whiskers and a pair of gimlet eyes addressed him bluntly. “Where you from?”

* * * * *

This sort of thing touched Indigo to the quick. “You kinda annoy me,” said he. “Yore eyes interfere and yore nose is too short to reach into my business. Back up.”

The self-elected spokesman worked his jaws for a moment and looked significantly about. “It won’t help you none to stir up the vinegar,” he warned Indigo. “I’m askin’ you once more--where you from?”

Indigo cocked his head at an angle and began nodding it from side to side as the words poured out of him. “Listen, Albert, I’ve rode into better towns than this, but I don’t recolleck havin’ entered any worser ones. You gents think yore pretty smart, picking on a stranger thisaway. Jus’ let me assert yore tamperin’ with high explosives. I’ll pull this shebang to its rotten foundations an’ let in a little air, which is some badly needed. You make me sick. What’s the name of this shrivelled up gopher hole?”

“That’s what I thought,” boomed the inquisitor. “You got a lot of brass, comin’ over here from Big Elk to spy us out! All right, boys, we’ll hang a few signs on ’im and send ’im back with our compliments!”

“You shore will suffer from plague and sudden decimation if you do,” stated Indigo severely. He saw that this agitated the crowd, which was curious, considering he had spoken only the literal truth. Civic pride was an unreasonable thing. “Just another imitation town,” he continued. “I ain’t from Big Elk if that will help you any. The farther south I rides the worse these corporate junk heaps get. What’re you so daggone proud about? I don’t see nothin’ to stimulate me none.”

The spokesman stepped forward, shaking his finger. “You’ll be humble----”

He was shoved aside by another man, who looked searchingly at Indigo. “Listen, ain’t yore name Indigo Bowers?”

“Yeah,” agreed Indigo sourly.

The new spokesman grinned. “Thought so. You was the fella that wrecked the Gloria saloon over at Big Elk, three years ago July.”

“Well, they tried to pick on me,” grumbled Indigo. “I ain’t the kind to stand that.”

The man turned to his partners. “We got him wrong. He ain’t no Big Elk boy.”

* * * * *

The atmosphere clarified instantly. Any man who had done property damage to Big Elk was among friends. They said as much; they shook his hand, they slapped him fraternally on the back. Indigo thawed, his volatile anger departed. “Well,” said he, “Mebbe I was harsh. Jus’ a mistake. I can see yo’re gentlemen o’ parts. What’s the name o’ this thrivin’, hospitable little city?”

“Jingle Bell.”

“And I takes it Big Elk has done you injury? Mebbe you’d like to return the same? Uhuh, the story is familiar to me. I nev’ took no stock in Big Elk myself.” He veered toward the gimlet-eyed gentleman who hung aloof, nursing suspicion. “What’s yore name, mister?”

“Gabe Wales. I ain’t ashamed to announce my handle.”

“Neither’m I,” was Indigo’s over-prompt answer. “Only, I’m modest.”

Somebody discerned that the cordial atmosphere was about to be dissipated and stepped in to prevent it. “Let’s all amble over to the Geyser an’ gild the lily. Any man that can deflate a little hot air from that cross between a hog-waller and a rabbit hutch known as Big Elk is certainly deservin’ of----”