[Mark Twain Mysteries 06] - Tom's Lawyer by Peter J. Heck

Author:Peter J. Heck [Heck, Peter J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781543618877
Google: 0a2nDAEACAAJ
Amazon: 0425182053
Barnesnoble: 0425182053
Goodreads: 523460
Publisher: The Berkley Publishing Group
Published: 2001-09-14T23:00:00+00:00

11

Missoula had no shortage of saloons. Indeed, the number of such establishments along its main and side streets would in my opinion have sufficed to serve a town much larger. Still, I had adequate lime for my investigation. If I did my work efficiently, I would be able to cover the majority of them before I had to report to Mr. Clemens at supper time.

I decided to make Mike Thompson’s establishment my first stop. C. D. had mentioned being in a place where a cowboy rode his horse into the barroom, and I remembered hearing the proprietor of Thompson’s testify that such an incident had occurred in his saloon the previous night. Unless riding horses into bars was more common than I thought, that would be one of the places that Harrington and his two cronies had visited on the fatal night.

Asking directions to Mike Thompson’s at the hotel desk got me only a blank stare, but when I asked a cab driver in front of the hotel, he said. “Hop in, boss. I’ll take you right there.” And sure enough, in less than five minutes, he dropped me off in front of the place I sought—one of three on the same block of Hazel Street.

The fare was ten cents, and I added on another dime as a tip. Good cabbies are useful in a strange town, and making myself appear a desirable fare could reap dividends somewhere down the road.

I went through the swinging doors and found a place not much different from others I had visited: a large, dimly lit room furnished with plain round tables that looked as if they could use a good cleaning. The bare floors were sprinkled with sawdust. At the back of the room was a long bar made of some dark wood, with two rows of bottles behind it. Through the smoky atmosphere I recognized the bald-headed man behind the bar; it was the same one who’d come to court to testify against the cowboy who’d ridden his horse into the saloon.

I walked over to the bar, ignoring the stares of the few patrons who’d noticed my arrival. I suspected they’d paid little more attention to their friend on horseback. From the condition of the furniture I suspected that an entire cavalry troop could have come through the doors without doing enough damage for most of the regular customers to notice. Certainly, the small crowd here at this hour of the afternoon seemed unlikely to care much. Still, I could understand how the bartender might on general principles oppose such shenanigans. If nothing else, it must have made him stop selling drinks long enough to sweep the floor.

I leaned on the bar and caught the bartender’s eye. He ambled over and drawled, “What’ll you have, stranger?”

“Give me a glass of your best beer,” I said, remembering C. D.’s advice at the place we’d been in earlier. Some of the liquor bottles behind the bar bore familiar labels, but that didn’t necessarily reflect the nature of the contents—or so I gathered from Mr.

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