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Soapy Smith got into his black mink coat and straggled out after Kelly, catching up to him under an arc lamp and speaking compassionately. Blood was dripping off the man’s chin and he spit out chips of teeth like gravel. Kelly said, “Second time I’ve tried to get that son of a bitch,” and Soapy winged an arm around the man’s neck, saying, “Why don’t we see if we can’t get you stitched up.”
BY THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON the justice of the peace had arranged for Soapy Smith to go upstairs to Bob Ford’s apartment and give his regards to the man who so coolly managed the agitator. Bob greeted the confidence man rather graciously, giving him a green leather chair and cognac in a brandy snifter and along with that some good advice about possible commercial enterprises in Creede if Smith was going straight.
Soapy was delighted. “So you know who I am!”
Bob shrugged. “You hear stories; not that I put much stock in what those goddamned newspapers say.”
“You couldn’t, could you.”
“Meaning what?”
Soapy ignored that, and when the subject changed he ignored Bob’s business suggestions, neglected to acknowledge his questions, but only gave his attention to the objects in the room, moving about the apartment with a cigar in his mouth, weighing things and gliding his fingers over them, interrogating Bob about their cost and the city of acquisition. He was a dapper, appealing man with clipped brown hair and a two-inch brown beard, who appeared for their meeting in a black suit and a black cravat that was kept in place by a two-carat diamond stickpin. He was genial in dialogue and forbidding when his thoughts strayed off and as Bob gazed at the man’s arrogant progress around the room he couldn’t dodge the feeling that he was looking at a reincarnation of Jesse James, Jesse James, Jesse James.
Bob asked, “Just what was it you had in mind with this meeting? Outside of making an inventory of all my worldly goods?”
Soapy resettled in the green leather chair and swished cognac from cheek to cheek as he scoured Bob with his eyes. He asked, “Do you know what you shoulda done about Jesse?”
“No; why don’t you tell me.”
Soapy grinned. “I will then.” He crossed his legs and looked into the glass. “One night you oughta gone out and sorta lagged behind old Jess on your horse. You get your gun out and yell his name and once he spins around, bang! You coulda said you two had an argument and shot it out and you come out the victor. I guess you never thought of it though.”
“I wasn’t big enough.”
“You sure done the wrong thing, killing the man with his wife and kids close by, and his guns off and, well, you know what you did. You oughta said you were sorry.”
“I figure if I’m sorry or not, that’s my own business.”
“Don’t matter! You ought to apologize and give ’em what they want! Say you were on this train there was no getting off and you did the only thing you could do. A man looks at Bob Ford now and you know what he sees? He sees pride and greed and no regrets.”
Bob scratched an itch at his neck. His grin was a dagger. “I’m going to make them forget all about ten years ago. I’m not going to be begging for forgiveness. I’m going to get people to respect me because of my accomplishments, just like Jesse did.”
Soapy tilted his head to gaze out at sunlight and snow. He scratched at his beard and asked, “Do you know Joe Simmons?”
“I’ve said pleased-to-meetcha.”
“Joe and me we’ve been talking about you and Creede and how things are and we thought maybe we’d begin a saloon and gambling hall like yours over to Jimtown. I figured maybe I’d get rich by pushing de booze over de boards.”
“Do you think there’s much call for another saloon? They say there’s one for every five men as it is.”
Soapy grinned at Bob with more antagonism than joy. “I’m going to get in while the getting’s good and then make the others get out.”
Bob struck a sulphur match off his shoe and stood it under a Corona cigar. “Just out of curiosity: how are you going to do that?”
“My gang, Bob! I’m going to be the government! I’m going to run things around here! Y’all come over to the right way of thinking or, bingo, out you go!”
Bob sucked on the cigar, squinting his left eye from the smoke. He changed his angle in the chair. “I forgot how to get scared ten years ago.”
“I figured that too.”
“I’ll give Creede to you though
“You’re saying that because you know I can take it.”
“Just stay away from the Exchange. You and your bodyguards and thugs. You don’t have guns enough.”
Soapy poured his cognac into a green fern and then pulled himself to standing with the green arms of the chair. He adjusted his big black sombrero on the crown of his head and ground out his cigar on the rug. “You and me, we’re exactly alike. If the time comes for killing Robert Ford, I guess you know what I’ll do.”
“Like I said: I’ve already been as scared as I’ll ever be.”
