Silly Smile
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“You know, I’ve been thinking,” said Mrs. Hale as she picked up her knitting again. “I could use some help around here.”
She stopped working on the baby’s sweater and looked at him over the top of the needles. She was a good knitter. He had to admit it. And he hadn’t known that she knew how to do anything but bake bread or make soup until now.
He couldn’t imagine what he would do without her. Not only did she run things while he worked in town, but she also kept his house spotless. It wasn’t like she cleaned for him; he didn’t have any dust bunnies under his furniture. But every morning when he got home from work, his wife would be waiting with hot coffee and freshly baked cookies. Then there were all those pies…
“What kind of help?” asked Nathan.
“Well, you could take over the laundry for starters. Or maybe you could do some of the cooking? We don’t eat out much. Maybe if we ate more often, our appetite wouldn’t get so big. You’re always hungry.”
Nathan laughed. “Why are you suggesting this now? Do you think I’m getting fat?”
Mrs. Hale shook her head. “No, no. It’s just that you’re not doing a very good job keeping everything clean. That’s why I suggested it. The house is starting to look shabby. It doesn’t matter how nice your clothes are if they’re covered in dirt. So I thought…” Her voice trailed off. She seemed embarrassed.
It made sense. If he took over the laundry, he’d have more time to work outside the house instead of spending all day at the washboard. He would also need to learn how to cook. There weren’t many women who cooked in town. Most of them either hired someone else to do it or brought food back from the restaurant.
“So what kind of help do you want me to give you?” he finally asked.
His wife shrugged. “Anything. Anything at all. Just stay home and take care of us. Please, dear. Stay home!”
“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “I’ll manage.”
The next few days went by quickly. Nathan spent most of his free hours in the barn. His horse had recovered nicely and was ready to race again. Nathan found himself missing his old life. He missed being able to ride whenever he wanted and watch the horses in training.
Sometimes he wished he never came here. At least not until after he won enough money to buy one of these fine thoroughbreds.
But he needed to win. Otherwise, he’d never find anyone willing to marry him. Even though he didn’t mind living in a small town, he would rather spend his nights in a fancy hotel room than on a hard wooden chair watching a horse race.
On Sunday afternoon, Nathan drove into town and parked in front of the bank. He walked inside and handed a note to the teller. A man standing behind her read it aloud: “Dear Misses Hale, Mr. Hale has come down with a fever. We will close early today. Love, Mrs. Hale.”
He left the bank and headed toward the saloon. It was a good thing Mrs. Hale sent the letter because otherwise, people might start wondering where he was. They were already talking.
One older woman whispered something to another. The other woman nodded then turned to walk away. When she reached the end of the street, she paused. Turned around. Looked right at Nathan and gave him a thumbs-up sign.
Another man approached Nathan and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, I heard you lost your horse.”
Nathan turned to see the same man who had watched him train his horse the day before. It was the man who owned the horse that Nathan had borrowed.
“Yes, I did,” replied Nathan. “That’s why I can’t join you tonight. My horse ran lame.”
The man frowned. “We’ll miss you, son. This is going to be the biggest night ever. Can’t wait to see what happens. Don’t forget, five minutes past midnight. Midnight! Come on, hurry up, everyone.” He waved Nathan over and pointed to the door.
Nathan followed him through the doors of the saloon and entered the crowded barroom. All eyes turned to look at him. Everyone in the place knew about the bet.
A loud cheer erupted when Nathan stepped onto the stage. He raised both hands high above his head and smiled. “Five minutes ’til midnight!” he yelled. “And counting!”
Then he began to sing.
“When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie, that’s amore—ahh!”
Everyone cheered as Nathan sang along. Some men whistled and clapped their hands while others pounded the table tops. Women shrieked and threw coins at him.
Some of the patrons stood up and danced. Others drank and smoked cigars and pipes. One of them even started juggling. Another man got drunk and staggered across the floor. An elderly man sat alone at the bar, nursing a drink and looking at the ceiling. He wore an expensive suit. It looked brand new. Not much different than the ones worn by some of the men sitting at tables.
As the clock struck twelve, Nathan stopped singing. Then he picked up the hat that lay near his feet and put it on. As the crowd quieted, he called out for silence. “Gentlemen, ladies, and gamblers alike. Thank you for coming out tonight. You may now collect your winnings. But please don’t rush. I wouldn’t want to ruin any of our lucky winners’ chances to win again. So take your time.”
“How much money?” someone shouted.
“Who cares? Let’s just get this show on the road!” cried another.
Others clamored for Nathan’s attention. He ignored them and continued to call out names.
After the third person collected his winnings, the crowd grew impatient. The noise rose. Men started arguing over whose name was next.
Finally, Nathan lifted his voice above the din. “Hold on a minute, everyone!” he said. “Please sit back down. And be patient. We’re almost finished.”
Nathan took off the hat and tossed it to a man sitting in the back of the hall. “Here,” he told him. “Take my hat.”
He moved closer to the center of the stage and lowered his voice so only those closest to him could hear. “All right, listen closely. Here are your winning numbers: thirty-five, twenty-seven, fifty-three, and seventy-one.”
The men applauded.
Nathan continued, “You all know how this works. Each number represents one of the horses in the race. If you have the correct horse, you collect your winnings.”
“Thirty-five, twenty-seven, fifty-three, seventy-one,” repeated Nathan. “Now remember, there is no need to shout or push each other. There are enough tickets here for everyone to have one.”
He held up two fingers. “First prize goes to the first winner with the correct ticket. The second prize will go to anyone with the second correct horse.”
Nathan waited for the cheering to subside. Then he counted down from ten. At zero, he dropped the ball on the stage floor. “Go!”
Everyone scrambled forward to grab the ball. A few grabbed more than one. Nathan tried not to smile. He knew exactly which horse would win. That was part of the plan.
In fact, Nathan had been counting down since the very beginning of the race. He’d planned for this exact scenario to unfold. His plan was working perfectly.
But then something happened that surprised him. No matter how hard Nathan pushed the ball toward the center of the stage, the ball didn’t roll. Instead, it rolled into the wall behind him.
Someone groaned loudly. “I’m tired of waiting. What’s taking him so long?”
“This isn’t fair. How come he gets to pick his own ball?” asked someone else. “It should be me picking it up.”
Nathan stared at the ball. He couldn’t understand why it wasn’t rolling. Did he do something wrong?
One of the men who’d won a jackpot during the evening rushed onstage carrying a gun. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Why can’t we see what’s inside the ball?”
Several others joined him. They shoved aside the people gathered around the stage and forced Nathan onto the ground. Two of them pulled him by the arms and pinned his wrists against the floor.
They handcuffed his hands together. When they did, he felt his pockets. His wallet and watch were gone. So too were the coins he had saved up for months. Even worse, the key to the handcuffs was missing.
His heart sank. He realized that if the gunmen wanted, they could kill him. All he needed was for them to reach into his pocket. One of the bandits must have noticed his movements. He pointed his pistol at Nathan.
With his free hand, Nathan reached for his belt buckle but couldn’t find it either.
A man stepped forward and placed his foot on Nathan’s shoulder. “Let’s tie him up good. Tie his legs together.”
Two of the men knelt beside Nathan. They bound his ankles.
When Nathan heard the clinking sound as his belt was taken away, he knew that the gunmen weren’t done searching. “Hey! Where’s my—”
Before he could finish speaking, a bullet hit the floor where his head had been. Another shot rang out. Then another. Someone screamed. More shots followed.
Nathan looked up to see a man standing in front of the stage.
“Don’t move!” shouted the gunman. “Get on the stage.”
Nathan crawled toward the center of the stage. A bandit approached and tied Nathan’s hands and feet to the railing.
As soon as he was secured, the gunman walked back to the stage and picked up the ball. He turned to face Nathan and fired again.
Another man ran out from behind the curtains. The gunman aimed at him, but before he could fire, the newcomer raised both fists high overhead and punched the gunman in the face.
The gunman fell backward and landed hard on the floor. As he lay there, the intruder kicked the revolver away from him and then snatched his gun.
The attacker stood over the fallen man and shot him several times in the chest. Blood spurted through his shirt. With his last breath, the gunman muttered, “I’ll get you next time, mister.”
***
Monica glanced across the room to see Nathan being carried off by a large group of men. She knew she shouldn’t worry about him because he was trained to handle himself when attacked, but it still worried her.
She also knew that Nathan wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her. It just took a little longer for him to take action.
That was why he always wore a gun. And yet, despite knowing this, Monica never thought that he might actually use it. Now, sitting here alone in the dark, she wished she had. If Nathan hadn’t been forced to leave the stage, she might have seen him shoot one of those gunmen. But now it was too late.
After shooting Nathan, the other gunmen quickly fled.
At least three of them left the saloon. Most likely, they were heading to their horses outside the building. Others remained inside, searching the crowd for the shooter.
Monica watched as two men searched the stage. They went right past her without noticing her. Their attention was focused entirely on Nathan. After all, he’d made an enemy of most of them tonight.
Three men entered the saloon wearing hats with feathers sticking out of them. They moved quickly, as though they were expecting trouble. They headed straight for Nathan.
Then suddenly, everything changed. Without warning, a loud boom sounded throughout the entire building. Everyone froze and turned to stare at the ceiling above the stage.
There, hanging by ropes attached to the rafters, hung five men. Each one held a rope in each hand. At first, no one seemed sure what was happening until a man yelled, “He got us!”
The gunmen hurriedly untied the ropes. The men dropped to the floor like sacks of potatoes. Some of them started to crawl away, but the gunmen stopped them and threw them back into place.
One of the men who’d been hanged said, “We’re not dead. You didn’t kill us.”
Everyone looked at him curiously. No one spoke or moved. What happened?
The leader of the gunmen approached the bodies. He pulled down a hat that belonged to Nathan, removed something from Nathan’s coat pocket, and placed it in the hat.
Suddenly, the men began laughing and talking among themselves. For a moment, silence reigned.
Finally, someone asked, “What are you going to do with us?”
Without saying a word, the leader picked up the hat, put it on Nathan’s head, and shoved the feather down into Nathan’s hair.
All eyes turned to Nathan.
For a long minute, nothing happened except that everyone stared at Nathan. Finally, the laughter died down. One of the men whispered, “This is some kind of joke, isn’t it?”
No one laughed. In fact, no one even smiled.
A few minutes later, Nathan climbed down from the stage. He was dressed differently than he had been earlier in the evening. His suit jacket was gone and he wore a black shirt and trousers. The only thing missing from his ensemble was a tie.
Nathan strode toward the bar. There he ordered drinks for everyone—except himself. Then he sat down in the chair opposite the bartender.
As Nathan waited for his drink, he surveyed the room. The men around him talked quietly, but none dared speak to him directly.
When the bartender brought him a glass of whiskey, Nathan thanked him and took a sip. The liquor burned his throat and warmed his stomach.
After finishing half the glass, Nathan tossed the remainder onto the bar. The bartender handed him another full glass and then disappeared.
The conversation continued for a while, but finally, people grew tired of waiting and drifted away from the table. Only Nathan stayed seated.
Monica found herself wishing she hadn’t come so far away from home. This night would have been much better spent if she had been able to spend it with her family.
Instead, she was trapped in a strange town, surrounded by strangers. She wasn’t used to such a company and felt very uncomfortable.
Despite her reservations, she had to admit that the saloon was pretty impressive. The woodwork on the walls and ceilings was beautiful, as well as ornate. The chandeliers were enormous crystal balls, sparkling brightly against the white plaster. The mirrors reflected light everywhere. A huge fireplace dominated one wall.
The bar itself was wooden. Carved into it, instead of names, were words and phrases like: “Gone but not forgotten,” “Farewell my love,” and “Someday I’ll be free again.”
It almost reminded her of a cemetery. But unlike a graveyard, there was life in the saloon. People came here to laugh and talk, not to mourn.
Monica noticed several tables scattered about the room. Several groups gathered together over cards. Many more sat alone, reading newspapers or books. It was hard to tell whether any of these men actually read the papers, but they did seem interested in whatever was written within the pages.
She wondered how many of them ever ventured outside this town. Probably very few, she thought.
Two men stood near the door. One appeared to be older than the other, perhaps fifty years old. Both were armed, which gave Monica pause.
The older man said, “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.”
“That’s okay,” Nathan replied. “You’ve done your best.”
Both men turned to face the door. Someone else entered. This time, it was a woman. Her name tag read, “Miss Lillian.”
She walked slowly across the room and stopped before Nathan.
The two men behind her followed. They all three stared at Nathan.
Lillian asked, “How can we help you tonight?”
“Please send for Miss Gannon. Tell her to bring her gun belt. And please don’t mention where she’ll find me.”
With that, Nathan rose and left the saloon without looking back.
***
Nathan watched the building burn. As he drove along the main street, he saw firemen hurrying toward the saloon. Smoke billowed out of every window, making the whole building look like an inferno.
He parked the car in front of the hotel, jumped out, and ran inside.
Inside, he found the lobby filled with smoke. At least four men lay on the floor unconscious. Three of them were badly burned and covered in blood. Two others looked fine. One of those was Joe.
In spite of the heat and the stench of burning wood and flesh, Nathan didn’t hesitate. He went straight to Joe.
Joe moaned.
“Hey, boy, wake up!” Nathan shook him lightly.
Joe opened his eyes. For a moment, he seemed dazed, but when he recognized Nathan, he grabbed Nathan’s hand and held on tight.
Nathan helped Joe stand up and led him outside.
Outside, Nathan wiped some of the blood off Joe’s face with his sleeve. He was surprised to see that the bullet wound was already closed.
They hurried past the front desk. Nathan pulled open the side door leading to the kitchen. He paused briefly to make sure that no one was watching and then quickly dragged both injured men through the door.
There, in the small hallway, Nathan laid the two wounded men on the floor. Nathan knew they’d only get worse lying down, so he rolled them onto their sides.
While Joe still clung tightly to Nathan’s arm, Nathan leaned close and whispered, “Tell me what happened.”
Joe shook his head and coughed. Blood trickled down his chin.
“Where are the other gunmen? Are there more?” Nathan pressed.
Joe swallowed hard. His eyes began to water. When he spoke, his voice sounded faint and weak.
“No more,” Joe managed to say. Then he fell silent.
Nathan glanced around. No one else could hear them now. With that realization, he realized just how lucky he had been. If anyone had heard gunfire in the middle of the night, it might have raised suspicions.
Nathan put his finger to Joe’s lips to quiet him. After another deep breath, Joe started talking again.
“We got in… somehow.”
Nathan waited patiently.
“Then we… split up. Me and Jake went upstairs…”
Jake, Nathan remembered. The other gunman.
“… while Jack went downstairs.”
Jack! That meant there was one more shooter.
“Did either of you see the other?” Nathan asked.
“Me,” Joe answered. “But I don’t know if Jack did.”
“What happened next?” Nathan prodded.
“When I reached the top of the stairs, someone shot at us. We took cover.”
Nathan nodded. So far, everything matched the description given by the bartender.
“After I fired, I heard Jake yell something. Then, suddenly, I heard shots from below.”
“And that’s when you hit the floor,” Nathan concluded.
“Right.”
“Why?”
Joe hesitated. He glanced nervously at Nathan.
Nathan said nothing. Instead, he continued to wait until Joe finally blurted out, “Because Jack must have seen me shoot at the other guy. He panicked and came after me.”
“Who was it?” Nathan demanded.
“I don’t know. Maybe he wore a mask.”
“Could he be wearing a bandage over his face?”
“Maybe. But I think he was wearing a hat too. A cowboy hat.”
“A hat would conceal most of a face,” Nathan pointed out.
“It does,” Joe agreed.
Nathan thought for a minute.
“So why not just wear a mask instead of a hat?”
Joe shrugged.
Nathan turned to Joe and asked, “Do you remember anything about the other gunman?”
Joe shook his head.
Nathan sighed. This wasn’t good news. If the other man was masked, there was little chance of identifying him.
At this point, Nathan couldn’t afford to worry about that. First, he needed to stop the spread of infection from the gunshot wounds. It wouldn’t do any good to arrest Jack or any of the gunmen if they died because Nathan hadn’t treated the bullet wounds properly.
That’s all that mattered now: treating the injuries.
“Come with me,” Nathan ordered.
He led Joe into the kitchen. There, Nathan used a pitcher of water to rinse the blood from his hands and arms. In the sink, he washed his clothes as well. Next, he ran hot water in the bathtub and set it to fill. Finally, he took his pistol, checked the load, and cocked the hammer.
Once Nathan finished washing up, he returned to the hall and knelt beside the two men.
Joe stared at the floor.
With careful movements, Nathan removed his coat and shirt and folded them carefully. He also retrieved a clean towel from a cabinet.
“Here,” he told Joe. “Put your shirt under these towels.”
Joe nodded.
Nathan reached toward the wounded men and placed the gun between them. As soon as he touched the barrel against the wound, Joe gasped. Nathan didn’t hesitate.
As he gently applied pressure to each of the bullets, he felt a sudden wave of anger rush through him. These men were responsible for killing Nathan’s wife. They had robbed him of her love and respect. Now, he wanted revenge—and he would take it.
The first bullet struck home, right in the center of the bullet hole.
Blood flowed freely.
The second bullet missed its mark entirely.
Nathan squeezed harder. The third bullet found the mark.
Blood poured out.
Nathan wiped the blood away from the hole. Then he inserted the fourth bullet and repeated the procedure. Once he finished, he wrapped both wounds tightly with the towels and then covered them with gauze soaked in alcohol.
Now it was time to apply for some medicine.
“Sit up straight,” Nathan instructed Joe.
Slowly, Joe obeyed.
Nathan held his hand out to Joe. “Take my hand.”
Joe grabbed hold.
“Hold on tight.”
Joe closed his eyes and gripped Nathan’s hand even tighter.
“Ready? Here goes.”
Nathan pressed down on the wound.
Joe cried out in pain.
For several seconds, Nathan kept applying pressure to the wound. At last, the bleeding slowed.
Next, Nathan gave Joe another dose of medicine. After he finished, he tied off the bandages so they could be changed every three hours.
“Let’s get going,” Nathan announced.
Joe looked up at him. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, but we’ll come back again. And you can tell us what happened.”
“Okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. But are you really going to arrest Jack?”
“If I see him, I will. Do you know where he lives?”
“No, but I can find it.”
“Good enough. We’ll return tomorrow night.”
“What am I supposed to say?” Joe asked. “Tell ’em I shot one of the robbers. Tell ’em I’m sorry.”
Nathan paused. What should he say? Should he let Joe give an excuse for shooting someone else?
Finally, Nathan answered, “I think you did the right thing, Joe. You saved yourself and maybe others.”
“Thank you,” Joe said quietly.
The End