you’ll have to get used to a new schedule.” Then she thought to say, “Unless you change it—you bein’ the owner and all. But ain’t nobody gets up early in the saloon ’cause they stay up so late before closin’. Rachel don’t usually open up till eight-thirty or nine. There ain’t no need to because there ain’t no customers that early, except one or two drunks and they’ll sleep on the porch till the doors open.”
“I reckon I just never thought about it like that,” Ben confessed. “I thought you’d already be out here rustlin’ up breakfast, and I was sleepin’ late.”
She smiled at him and admitted that she was a little earlier than usual this morning, primarily because she wanted to be sure not to be late on the first morning the new owner was there. “I usually have something cooked up around seven-thirty. That’s the time when Rachel usually has her breakfast. But hand me that coffeepot and I’ll fix you up with something in a jiffy. You’ll have to wait a little while for the biscuits to bake, but I’ll fry you up some eggs and bacon. All right?”
“I don’t wanna trouble you,” he said. “I can wait for your usual breakfast time.”
“No trouble a-tall,” she said, “just have to wait for my pan to get hot. Shouldn’t take too long, since you’ve already got my stove going.”
He had to wonder if their breakfast hour played any part in Jim Vickers’s keeping a room in the hotel and eating breakfast in the hotel dining room. He felt sure the hotel dining room opened by six o’clock every morning. “If you’re sure it won’t upset your routine, I’d be obliged.” A thought occurred to him then. “Don’t often find a saloon that offers fresh eggs. Where do you get ’em?”
“Same place we get the bacon,” Annie answered, “my husband, Johnny. I brought four dozen fresh eggs with me this morning.”
By the time the coffee was ready, the stove was plenty hot enough to cook his eggs and bacon. Ben sat at the table and talked to Annie while she prepared her kitchen for the day after she set his breakfast before him. He figured it a good time to get to know her, so he wasn’t in a hurry, although he planned to go to the stable to take Cousin to the blacksmith for shoes. As the clock on the wall inched up closer to six-thirty, she seemed to be concerned, for she took frequent glances at it. He soon realized what caused her apparent nervousness when he heard the back door open and a man walked in shortly before seven. Seeing Ben seated at the kitchen table, the man hesitated before coming on in. When he stood there for a long moment, Annie said, “Oh, come on in, Johnny, and say hello to the new owner.” Back to Ben, she said, “This is my husband. He usually eats his breakfast here. I hope that ain’t a problem. Johnny, this is Mr. Ben Savage.” Looking at Ben again, she said, “Rachel knows Johnny eats here in the morning. Half the time, she shows up for breakfast before he finishes, but if it’s a problem . . .”
“It ain’t a problem for me, unless he expects me to cook it for him,” Ben interrupted. “Come on in, Johnny, and sit down. Your wife and Rachel are tryin’ to break me in as a co-owner of the Lost Coyote. Right now, everything depends on whether or not those biscuits are fit to eat. And I think she was just fixin’ to take’em outta the oven when you came in. So you can help me judge ’em.”
Johnny laughed good-naturedly. “Well, I can already tell you I guarantee ’em to be the best you’ll find in the whole state of Texas.” He could tell from the first that he was going to like Ben Savage, having expected someone completely different. When Annie had told him about the reactions of the man when threatened by one of the Double-D riders, he had pictured a deadly steely-eyed gunman. He had wondered if the Lost Coyote was going to be competing with the Golden Rail for all the troublemakers that chanced to drift through town. After talking to Ben for a little while, he was convinced that the new owner was focused more on not losing the present business attitude.
By the time they were eating hot biscuits, Rachel appeared. “Looks like I’m late for the party,” she said upon finding Ben and Johnny still at the table. “Morning, Johnny. I see you’ve met the new owner.” He returned her greeting. “Morning, Ben,” she said then. “You were looking so sleepy by the time we closed last night, I thought we wouldn’t see you until noon.”
“He had a fire in the stove and was making a pot of coffee when I got here this morning,” Annie informed her.
“I’m gonna have to reset the clock inside my head,” Ben said, “so I ain’t in Annie’s way every mornin’.” Annie was quick to state that he was welcome to fire up her stove and start the coffee every morning, if he wanted to. “Right now, I reckon I’ll walk up to the stable and take my horse to the blacksmith. I understand he’s good at shoein’ horses.”
“That he is,” Johnny remarked. “Jim Bowden, he’ll treat you right.”
* * *
“Mornin’,” Bowden offered cautiously when Ben walked up to his shop, leading Cousin. Like Johnny Grey and everyone else in Buzzard’s Bluff, Bowden had heard about the confrontation in the Lost Coyote and had formed the same picture as Johnny had. The size and intimidating bearing of the man seemed to enhance that image.
“Mornin’,” Ben returned. “I think Cousin, here, is about ready for some new shoes. Accordin’ to what Johnny Grey says, you’ll do a good job at a fair price. Is that about right?”
Bowden laughed. “I reckon it is, if Johnny says so. Jim Bowden’s my name, and I’d be glad to take a look at him.”
“Ben Savage,” he said and shook Bowden’s hand. “’Preciate it.”
Bowden took Cousin’s reins and led him back behind his forge and proceeded to take a look at the dun gelding’s hooves. “You’re right,” he told Ben, “he’s about ready for some new shoes, but his hooves look to be in good shape. Looks like you take good care of him.”
“He always takes good care of me,” Ben said, “so I reckon I owe him that.”
Bowden began the work of removing Cousin’s shoes and fitting him with the proper shoe to fit his hoof. As far as Ben could tell, Bowden was a careful farrier, taking about fifteen to twenty minutes on each hoof. While he worked, he asked Ben how he thought he’d like the little town of Buzzard’s Bluff. Ben said he didn’t know, but he liked what he had seen so far. “Well, from what I’ve heard,” Bowden said, “you’re plannin’ to operate that saloon pretty much the same way Jim Vickers did. Is that right?”
“Don’t see any reason to change anything,” Ben answered. “Looks to me like Rachel has been takin’ care of business.”
He fully expected to hear Bowden compliment Rachel, just as everyone else had so far, but he didn’t. Instead, he fell silent for a moment, staring beyond Ben, then muttering, “Uh-oh.”
Ben turned to see what had captured his attention and saw a pair of riders walking their horses toward the Lost Coyote. He continued watching them until they pulled up at the hitching rail in front of the saloon. “You know those fellows?” Ben asked.
“I know who they are,” Bowden said. “They ride for the Double-D ranch. At least, I know who one of ’em is. That one on the right is Ed Hatcher. He shot a man down in the Golden Rail about six months ago in a fight over a card game. I don’t know the name of the fellow with him.” He paused to give Ben an intense look. “He’s the fellow that was with the one you shot yesterday.”
That tweaked Ben’s interest right away. “This Ed Hatcher, how come he’s not in jail?”
“Mack
