Read Online Song of Eagles by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

Hole.”
    Beaver’s eyebrows almost disappeared in the mop of wild hair on his head. “You mean you want to buy my saloon?”
    Falcon nodded. “If it’s for sale.”
    Beaver shrugged. “Son, everything’s for sale, if the price is right.” He held his glass up and stared into the amber fluid for a moment. “Though I don’t rightly know just what I’d do with myself if I sold out. It’s true, runnin’ the place gets a bit wearying, but I’m not the sort to go sit by a stream with a pole and fish the rest of my life.”
    â€œI realize that, Beaver, and I’m not the sort of man to settle down in one town for any length of time. So, how about this? I’ll pay you a fair price for half ownership in The Drinking Hole, and for as long as I’m around I’ll run it and you can take some time off to rest up or travel or whatever you want to do. When I get tired of Fort Sumner I’ll be on my way, and you can send my half of our profits to my bank back in Valley, Colorado.”
    Beaver pursed his lips. “You’d trust me to do that, young feller?”
    â€œI never enter into a business arrangement with a man I can’t trust,” Falcon said. “And in all my years I’ve never yet been disappointed in any of my partners.”
    Beaver thought for a moment, eyeing Falcon over the rim of his glass as he drank. Finally, he got up and poured them both another round.
    â€œWell, if we’re gonna make a deal, let’s get down to some serious negotiatin’,” he said with a wide grin.
    It took almost two more hours and the rest of the bottle of bourbon before they agreed on a price for Falcon to purchase a half interest in The Drinking Hole.
    As they shook hands and Falcon prepared to return to his hotel, Beaver said, “I told you I was a good judge of character. If you run the saloon half as well as you bargain, our profits are assured.”
    * * *
    The next night, after Beaver had packed up a suitcase and gone to visit his daughter over in Roswell, Falcon began his first night as new owner of The Drinking Hole. He arranged with the cook at the hotel to provide a large tray of sandwiches and several jars of pickled eggs, which he placed on the bar next to a sign saying Free Food.
    Roy, the bartender, asked, “Why are we giving the food away for free, Mr. MacCallister? We could charge for it and make a profit on it.”
    â€œWe’re going to make a profit on it, Roy. The more a puncher eats, the more he drinks, and our real profit is in the whiskey and beer we serve. Those pickled eggs make a man mighty thirsty, and the more we give away, the more whisky we’ll sell.”
    â€œWhat about the sandwiches?”
    â€œA man with a full stomach is less likely to get dead drunk and start a fight, or shoot up the place. And the longer it takes a man to get drunk, the longer he can drink and the more whiskey we’ll sell.”
    Roy smiled and shook his head. “I can see things are going to be a mite different around here.”
    â€œNot too different,” Falcon said. “Beaver ran a nice place. I just want to help him out with a few minor changes to enhance our profit margin a little.”
    As the saloon began to fill up Falcon went to his table. He had set up a felt-covered table in a corner away from the entrance, and he sat with his back to a wall so he could observe everything that went on and could see who came in the door before they could see him. He wanted no surprises. It was a habit of carefulness he had acquired over the years, and it had served him well.
    He had Roy bring him a cup of coffee and he sat there, watching the play at the other tables and the faro game, and dealt himself a game of solitaire to play until the heavy poker players arrived.
    When he saw Billy Bonney and Dick Brewer, John Tunstall’s foreman, walk through the door, he waved Billy over to his table. Billy