full of men who say they can do things they cannot."
"Just so. To hear the man, he scouted for Custer at the Washita and Crook at the Rosebud and captured Geronimo all alone with his bare hands. In his defense, I must say that it is well-nigh impossible to call him a liar in his presence. If he is not the genuine article he ought to be."
"I would meet him."
"And so you will. He operates the Golden Gate Saloon down the street. Perhaps you saw it on your way in." Mr. Knox looked dubious. "A saloonkeeper?"
Judge Blod shrugged elaborately. "If you lusted after the strenuous life, would you not establish a place where those who live it yet might gather and share stories?"
"I would live the life. But I am able and not yet old."
The Judge directed the clerk to send our bags up to his suite and we repaired down the street to a clapboard shack of pioneer vintage with a plank nailed across the front reading THE GOLDEN GATE in Old English letters that had once been gilt, but which had since darkened and flaked away. In places only the faded wood where the paint had once been still rendered the sign legible. The front window was opaque with dust and smoke discoloration, and one of the batwing doors sagged on a cracked leather hinge. As we approached it, a man in a shapeless felt hat and dirty bib overalls hurtled through, caught his toe on the woodwalk, and fell face down in the dust and manure of the street. A big man wearing a striped shirt and red galluses and garters came out and stood over him.
"Who cut the balls off Johnson's bluebellies, you Yankee-loving bastard?" he demanded, and turned back toward the doors. He spied the Judge and stopped.
"Not entirely auspicious," declared the Judge; "but a meeting nonetheless. Mr. Henry Knox, it is my distinct, if peculiar pleasure to present Mr. Benjamin Franklin Wedlock, originally of Independence, Missouri."
"Your humble servant, sir," said the big man, inclining his fair head, which was as broad as any ox's. "Or so my sainted mother taught me to say in social situations."
These I think were the first words I heard him say. My memory of them is not clear, for I was much more attentive to his appearance than to his speech. He had regular, if aging featuresâsomewhat pale, and clean-shaven but for broad burnsides following the curve of his high cheeks. However, the skin on the left side of his face appeared to have been badly burned sometime in the distant past, for although it was smooth and not at all scarred, it was stained dead black in a patch as large as a man's hand. Even so, it was not this that transfixed me, but rather the pale blue eye on that side of his face, a fixed flat thing that did not move when its mate moved, and which was plainly made of glass.
Chapter 6
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LEAD FLIES AT THE L GOLDEN GATE
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"S peak up, son. It is ungentlemanly to stare." Mr. Knox's words alerted me to the fact that I had been addressed by Wedlock, who was looking down at me now with his good eye turned my way and a guarded smile that showed an even row of white teeth. Still I said nothing. The artificial orb glittered in its ebony setting.
"It's the eye he's studying on," Wedlock said, good humor in his tone. "I'm used to it."
"That does not excuse the behavior," said Mr. Knox. "How did that happen?" I demanded.
"Master Grayle!" Judge Blod began to apologize for my rudeness. Wedlock cut him off.
"The story repeats well. But it ain't for the street. Our throats would all bear sluicing on a day like this, I'll warrant." He opened one of the batwings and held it.
Mr. Knox pointed at the man lying in the dirt, who had begun to stir. "What about that fellow?"
"An insult to my hospitality. He spoke unkindly of General Lee."
"I fought for the Union myself."
"But with respect for your enemy, I'm bound. This heap of stinking guts stayed home and sold shoddy. Because of him our boys fought in rags and he had the poor judgment to call them tramps."
"They did not fight like tramps,"