The Crack in the Lens Read Online Free PDF Page A

slamming-sloshing way Mr. B slapped the glass down before me), we claimed a table in the corner.
    “So…” I tried to take a sip but got nothing but suds. “Tell me about Bales.”
    My brother took a long, long pull on his beer before speaking. He usually doesn’t do more in a saloon than wet his whistle, but now he was really giving the thing a good soaking.
    “Man’s a barber. Was a barber, anyhow. The local postmaster, too. That’s how I got to know him. Used to help me fill out the money orders I sent up to y’all on the farm. So he knew I was…unschooled. After a time, it got so’s he’d help me with other things, too. Like the notes you used to send me.”
    I chuckled, thinking back on my dispatches about flying-ship trips to the moon and President Cleveland’s latest visit to beg our dear old Mutter to marry him. When you’re a crazy-bored farmboy, the excitement you put into a bullshit tall tale’s about the only kind you’re likely to get.
    “So that’s how Bales knew of me,” I said.
    Gustav nodded. “He ended up knowin’ a lot about me. I think you could even say he was a friend.”
    “So naturally you tried to knock his block off.”
    “Yeah…I reckon I did.” Old Red foamed up his mustache with another glugging swig. “After I found out about Adeline, I went on a real tear, and Milford ended up in my path one night.”
    “A tear? You?”
    Not only had I never seen my brother drunk, I’d never even seen him truly tipsy.
    “Yeah, me,” he said miserably. “If I’d had the slightest clue what to do, if I’d had me any method , it wouldn’t have happened. But Mr. Holmes was a long ways off for me still…so I just went and got stinkin’ drunk. Made a big scene at the Golden Eagle, stumbled around town ragin’. Somewhere in there, me and Milford tangled—though I can’t recall over what. That was the last I seen of him till today.”
    “Well, looks like your ol’ pal can hold a grudge.”
    “So it would seem.” Old Red polished off his drink, finishing in the manner prescribed by cowboy etiquette—by dragging his shirt-sleeve across his face. “Just don’t fit him, though.”
    “Neither does a badge.”
    My brother stared down into his empty mug and made a neutral, thoughtful sort of sound—“mmmm.” Then he pushed the glass across the table with his fingertips, putting it as far from his reach as possible.
    “What do you make of the man?” he said, and he turned toward the bar.
    Mr. B looked up with wide, innocent eyes. “Huh? You talkin’ to me?”
    He’d been busying himself as all barmen will when killing time. Swiping at the counter with a rag. Spit-polishing shot glasses.
    Eavesdropping.
    “Yeah, yeah,” Old Red said, impatiently waving off the man’s phony confusion. “Bales—what kinda marshal is he?”
    “The do-gooder kind,” the barkeep growled, scowling. He was obviously one of those fellows who consider the doing of good un-manly and more than mildly repugnant. “All the holier-than-thous got together to throw out the old marshal and put Bales in his place.”
    “So he’s some kinda reformer, is he?” I asked.
    “Worse than that! The bastard’s honest ! First day in office, he actually starts enforcin’ the damned laws!”
    I shook my head and clucked my tongue. “Scandalous!”
    “Marched right into the Golden Eagle with a bunch of deputized busybodies and closed the place down,” Mr. B went on, ignoring me (which, I grant you, is often for the best). “Did the same to the Bull’s Head and the Bon Ton, and now there ain’t nowhere in town a man can get himself a piece of ass with his head held high. Can you imagine? I mean, this is Texas , dammit! That’s supposed to stand for something! Am I right or am I right?”
    “Both,” I said, and I saluted him with my mug.
    “If Bales is such a crusader, why’s he put up with Ragsdale and Bock?” Gustav asked. “Not half an hour ago, we saw the three of ’em together, and it looked