Chapter 6

The first thing I had the swamper do was run up and down the street to all the saloons, inviting everybody to a free show out in front of this one in half an hour. When he got back from that errand, I had him carry all those clothes on the floor out and make a pile of them in the middle of the street. I gave him a dollar tip and told him to get a Mexican beer for the both of us. We sat and drank our beer while we waited for the half hour to be up.

I took the last drink from my mug and then led my parade of naked poker cheats out to the street. By that time, quite a crowd had collected, curious to see what all the to-do was about. My string of naked fish got a big laugh as I led them out the door and into the street. I looked around and found just the thing I was looking for. There was a sign hanging out over the street, so I had my swamper friend climb up on the sign's support and tie the end of the rope to the sign just short of pulling it too snug on the balls of the first man in line. This left them tethered to the sign with the knot too high to reach from the ground. The first man in line couldn't move much or his balls would have been painfully pulled by the rope tied to the sign. None of the other men could move very far without having his balls painfully pulled, too. They were right next to a hitching rail, so they would have something to lean against, but the rope was too short for them to sit down. They were going to have one hell of a sunburn before the sun went down.

I then instructed the swamper to set fire to the pile of clothes in the street. I didn't expect them to burn completely, but I expected them to be ruined by the fire. I then turned to the crowd and said, "Howdy, folks. My name's Jake Esposito, in case any of y'all wondered 'bout that. This here bunch of no-good bastards tried to cheat me in a poker game. Now, I don't take kindly ta that, soz I thought ta teach 'em a lesson in manners. I'll be leavin' town tomorrow, an' I hope ta see this here bunch of galoots still tied up like the way they are now when I ride out. After I'm gone, I don't care if one of y'all good people takes pity on 'em an' cuts 'em loose, but I hope that y'all leave 'em here 'til I leave as a sign of what bad manners and pore hospitality kin git ya. I thank y'all kindly fer yer attention ta my speech." Spontaneous laughter and applause broke out as I turned to leave.

It was still pretty early in the afternoon, so I went to the next saloon in line and didn't get a chance to order a beer. I had one pushed into my hand as soon as I stepped up to the bar. It wasn't Mexican beer, but I drank it, anyway, out of courtesy to the man who bought it for me. They all wanted to hear my story in detail, so I drew the tale out for about an hour. They were all enthralled, and felt fully entertained for the whole time. Several people asked to see my LeMat, since it was new to them. I declined to hand it over, but I did hold it out and point out its most interesting features. They were especially interested in the shotgun barrel and how it worked. I wound up spending nearly 2 hours in that saloon before I moved on to the next one.

The same thing happened in that saloon, and I stayed there until supper time. I left for the restaurant in the hotel, where I also booked a room for the night. I had to walk past my earlier acquaintances, and I noticed that they were all turning a nice shade of red. They begged me to cut them loose, but I ignored that request. After supper, I visited the last saloon in line and had a repeat of the events in the first two saloons that I had visited. Several people had shown up in town after my little show, so they did not know the whole story. They all expressed regret at having missed the main event.

Despite what the marshal of the previous town had said, Pansy was not loaded with people on wanted posters. Oh, well, I had an interesting time and may actually have done some good. I sure made a profit off my poker "winnings." I rode away from Pansy with an extra $247.31, which was more than I probably would have made from capturing a wanted man.

The rest of the week was quiet, though I did have a few patients show up at my office for routine things like blisters and belly aches. I also dropped by to check on Andy Taylor's gunshot wound. He was doing well, so I left him in good spirits. He thanked me for treating him and even paid my bill with a smile. All patients should be like that.

On Thursday, I dressed as Jake and went to visit the saloons to keep up with the men's version of the local gossip. Among other things, I heard a version of the fun I had in Pansy, though they didn't have a name to go along with the rest of the story. The word was that somebody had cut the galoots loose after I left town. They had a bad sunburn with a lot of blisters. I hoped that they had learned their lesson.

When Monday came around, I decided to skip laundry day and ride over to Trinity to collect my reward for Greasy Bob. I could also pick up the latest reward posters while I was at it. This leading two lives business had gotten to be a lot of fun. I realized that I would hate to go back to being just a doctor, or, heaven forbid, just another housewife.

As I was riding toward Trinity, I heard a shotgun go off. I wondered who would be out bird hunting this late in the morning when the stage coach came thundering past me. The shotgun guard was frantically reloading, so I knew that the shot I had heard had not been a sign of bird hunting. I took the hint to get off the road and out of sight. I just made it when I saw four Comanches come storming past, chasing the stage.

Most of the Comanche trouble was over by 1868, but there were occasions when some young braves just had to get the meanness out of their system. Normally, I would have let it go, since a bow and arrow in a stern chase like this was very unlikely to do any harm, but these Indians had Spencer carbines, and that was no thing to take lightly. I decided that if I was going to help, I sure couldn't do it by chasing after the Comanches. The only way I thought that I could do any good was to cut cross country and try to get ahead of the stage. Maybe, I could ambush the Comanches, or something.

I started across the rough territory, trying to reach the road again where it curved around and ran on the other side of a low ridge only about half a mile from where I was. I got to the top of that ridge and caught a glimpse of the coach lying on its side. The driver, the guard, and a passenger were shooting at the Comanches as they road around the coach, shooting at it. As I watched, one of the Comanches got off a lucky shot and hit the guard. I was too far away to tell where he had been hit, but he was sure out of action.

The Indians were going to have a problem hitting anything while riding their horses at full speed, but one of them had just proved that it was possible. I thought that I might break up the party if I could catch the Indians by surprise. My Henry was potentially more accurate than the Spencer carbine with its shorter barrel. Combining that with the fact that I would be stationary when I shot, I hoped that I could take out one or two of the Comanches and thereby encourage them to look elsewhere for their fun.

I hastily rode toward the overturned stage coach and dismounted about 60 yards from it in a stand of trees. I took my Henry and placed myself partially behind a tree that I could use as a steady-rest when I shot. I'm a good shot with the Henry when I have something to prop on, so I was confident as I lined up on my first Comanche. I picked a time in his loop around the downed coach when he would be facing directly toward me and squeezed off my first shot. I quickly levered in another round and shot at an Indian riding away from me. I levered in another round and stopped to survey the situation. I had hit both of the men I had shot at, and they were struggling to stay on their horses. Their friends had come to their aid and were helping them to ride away from the fight.