Wisdom or money can get you almost anything, but it’s important to know that only wisdom can save your life.” –Ecclesiastes 7:12 (NLT)
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There was a chill in the air as I rode into Towaoc. Not much of a village to say the least. There was one adobe building, a corral with a stall for maybe two horses, and half a dozen jacals. The adobe looked to be some sort of trading post, and it made me wonder if they were not selling liquor. I needed information regarding the murders, but I’d also check into that.
I threw the reins over the hitching rail, I knew that Hawk wouldn’t go anywhere, then unbuttoned my coat. I wanted to be able to get to my pistol if needed; I carried the Greener in my left hand. Upon entering the building I took a couple of steps to my left knowing I needed to let my eyes adjust. It was dark in the building, with only two small windows on each side and one in front. There were two figures in front of me, one sitting at a table, the other behind a counter, but I couldn’t make anything else out about them.
“Welcome,” came the voice from the man standing, then he added “Bienvendo.” Perhaps he couldn’t see very well either and he wanted to cover both languages. I gave a little wave then started towards the two men. It was a homely place, a few blankets, pants, shirts, and some skirts and blouses for the ladies. Some scarves and bandanas. Not much else save a couple of ropes that looked to be made of horsehair.
Moving up to the counter I nodded at the man sitting. He had an empty bowl in front of him along with an empty coffee cup. “Whiskey,” I ordered.
“Senor, I do not carry such a thing. You will need to go back to Cortez if you want to fulfill that desire. We are poor here and most of our customers are Indians and it is forbidden to sell whiskey and the like to them.”
“Coffee then,” and I pointed to the empty bowl. “What was he eating?”
A large grin appeared on the man’s face, “chili.”
“Bring me a bowl of that as well,” I ordered, then stepped to the table. “May I?” I asked, pulling a chair from the table not waiting for an answer. Looking at the man, I asked, “Is it good?”
“Si,” he replied, then added, “muy caliente.”
The man seemed to be in good shape. He was thin, wiry to be exact and he looked as if he had seen hard times in his life, but had overcome them. There was a little scar sitting on his cheek that ran to the top of a large, heavy moustache. Sheepherder? Doubtful.
As I sat, he asked, “Senor, what brings you to this little village?” He paused with a smile on his face. “Surely not to see if there was whiskey being sold.” He let his eyes wander over me. “Hmmm, not a marshal, certainly not the sheriff I know of Charlie Gold.”
The bowl of chili was placed in front of me, so I didn’t answer the man until I had taken a bite. I bowed my head first, saying a little prayer, then put my spoon into the mixture of beans, meat, onions, and pepper, I immediately felt the heat. It was hot, which I didn’t mind. Only when it is too hot to taste do I take a disliking to it. I put on a little show for them and promptly hollered, “Aqua!”
That brought a chuckle for the proprietor who offered, “Maybe you should pray again for relief.” A smile appeared from the man sitting across from me. He had caught on to my little act.
After drinking half the glass of water that was given to me. I took another spoonful, this time without reaction, swallowed, then looked at the man. “To answer your question, I’m a Ranger.” I took another bite. “Perhaps one of you could give me some information. I’m investigating the murder of some Navaho sheepherders. Know anything about that?”
The two men looked at each other. The proprietor answered, “No, nothing in particular. We too, heard there had been murders.”
I nodded and continued to eat, then I asked, “I was told to ask for Charlie Two-Face and that he could give me some answers.”
It became quiet and the proprietor left saying, “Let me get you some more coffee.”
Looking at the man across from me, I took a chance. “Charlie, what can you tell me?”