“There’s not much to tell, Mr. Clete,” the bartender said. “He hadn’t been in here long. He was sitting right where you are, with Mr. Dennison. He said he had a headache, that it must be the new hat…”
“This hat,” Clete said, touching his new Stetson.
“Yes, Sir. I thought that might be it. And he took it off and laid it on the bar and said he was going to the gentlemen’s, and when he got to the door…I was watching…he just…he just fell down.”
“Miss Martha told me it was a cerebral hemorrhage,” Clete said.
“Yes, Sir. Well, Mr. Dennison and I run over there, and Dr. Sayre was out in the lounge with Mrs. Dennison, and he came running, and I went back to the bar to call an ambulance, and I was still on the phone when Dr. Sayre said he was gone.”
“A good way to go, wouldn’t you say, William?” Clete said.
“Yes, Sir. I thought about that. What he was talking about to Mr. Dennison was that a hole had come in that morning flowing a thousand barrels. It was a wildcat they put down with their own money. I had a one-twenty-eighth interest in the hole. It was a happy time.”
“Thank you, William.”
“We’re going to miss Mr. Jim around here, Mr. Clete, for a long time.”
“Yeah,” Clete said.
William went to the end of the bar and picked up a towel and started to polish a whiskey sour glass. The telephone under the bar rang. He picked it up, then returned, carrying the handset on a very long coiled cord to Clete.
“There’s a gentleman in the lobby asking to see you, Mr. Clete.”
“You have a name?”
“No, Sir. He’s on the phone.”
Clete held out his hand for it.
“Hello?”
“Clete, I’m sorry to intrude on your leave, but I have to talk to you.”
Christ, it’s Colonel Graham. I thought he’d send me a telegram, or call.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you think you could possibly squeeze in a few minutes for me in your busy schedule?”
“Yes, Sir. Of course. I’m just a little surpri
sed you’re here.”
“I’m an amazing man. I thought you understood that. Would you tell this fellow to let me in, please?”
“Let me speak to him, Sir.”
Clete picked up his glass and walked out of the bar into the lounge. It was furnished with tables and red-leather-upholstered captain’s chairs, for ladies and for business conversations. The tables were arranged far enough apart to make it difficult to hear what was said at the adjoining tables.
He picked out one of the tables and stood beside it until he saw Graham entering the room, then signaled to him with his raised glass.
Graham was in somewhat mussed civilian clothing, and looked in unabashed curiosity around the room as he walked to Frade.
“Good afternoon, Sir,” Clete said.
Graham smiled at him. “Howdy, Tex,” he said. “Have you got a cowboy hat to go with that outfit?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. A brand-new Stetson, by the way. A family heirloom, so to speak.”