Being wise is as good as being rich; in fact, it is better.” –Ecclesiastes 7:11 (NLT)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After she turned and hurried out the man at the bar followed. I continued eating, wanting to talk with her again. By her actions she indicated that she knew something. When I had finished they still had not reappeared; I could have walked out without paying, but I reached to the pouch in my vest pocket and pulled out a half dollar. It was probably double the price of the meal, but I figured she could use the money.
A wind had come up bringing a chill that I quickly noticed when I stepped outside. Two other places of business were in my view, the trading post and livery. I didn’t know what shepherds would use a livery for, so I chose the trading post. Walking across the street I saw that the sky was beginning to darken. I might have to cut this trip short and go back to Durango; it looked like one of those March snows was ready to drop its load.
“Welcome,” came the voice from a man sitting by a pot-bellied stove towards the back of the store. “Saw you ride in an’ figured you’d come over for something. Last stop until Moab.”
I picked up a couple of cans of beans. I was still amazed that they could actually put food in cans. Then I saw peaches and grabbed two cans. I put them on the counter and the man hesitantly got up from the warmth of his chair.
“Anything else?” he asked, stepping up behind the counter.
“Do you have any green ribbon?” I questioned as I looked around the room.
He smiled and I noticed that he was missing a front tooth. A fight perhaps? “Just so happens I do,” he replied. “How much do you want?”
“Give me a yard, and…” I hesitated, “what can you tell me about three Navaho who were killed?”
He stopped, then moved on to where the material was on a table. “Nope, I don’t interfere with problems with the Indians.”
That stopped me for a moment to ponder, then I asked, “Tribal affair?” Then I added, “Or intertribal?”
Coming back with the ribbon, the smile had left his face. “Total, is sixty cents.”
“Listen, I’m not after anyone. I was asked to investigate the killing of three sheepherders, that’s all.”
“Sixty cents,” was all he said. Then he asked, “You a bounty hunter?
“Ranger,” I said gathering up my goods watching him.
“You might want to check down at a village they’re calling Towaoc. Ask for Charlie Two-Face,” he said, then smiled and I nodded thinking of the significance of that name.
Moving to the door, I stopped and turned. He was walking back to his comfortable position by the stove. “How about a man on a palomino?”
He just pointed…