A few heads turned as he stepped into the Nugget.

"Hey Virgil"

"Howdy Pard"

"Virgil"

He acknowledged them individually, and took a stool once-removed from the sullen drunkard Jeff. "Earl," he said, "I'll have a slug of rotgut."

"It ain't rotgut," said Earl, "it's whiskey".

"Okay Earl, I'll have a shot of 'whiskey' if you don't mind." One didn't argue with Earl. He was known to be moody.

Earl put a glass in front of him, and poured from an unlabeled brown bottle. Virgil squinted his eyes, lifted his drink, and tossed it back.

WHOOOAAaaaaahhhh….!!!!…That's good stuff Earl!"

It took a moment for the initial bite of the rotgut to subside. He turned on his stool and took a look around the saloon. He watched Mona dancing with a man called Brewster. A recent bit of luck out in the foothills had left Brewster with a few hundred dollars in his pocket. An hour or two at the "Lily" would take care of that. Mona, as usual, seemed to be having a good time.

"How's it going Virgil?"

He turned to his right and smiled. "Hi there Fifi."

"Virgil, I'd like you to meet Frank," said Miss Fifi, indicating Bloody Jim.

"Howdy Frank"

"Hi Virgil."

Virgil appraised the stranger. He was hatless with a gray suit, and a white, ruffled shirt with string tie. His clothes seemed to be of an expensive cut, but were tinged with reddish traildust. He had dark hair, sideburns, and a thin, finely-trimmed moustache. He had a wide, even smile with sparkly white teeth. Virgil would have taken him for a dandy except for the cold steel in his eyes.

"Earl! A glass for my friend Virgil!" said Bloody Jim.

Earl set a glass on the bar, and Bloody Jim poured Virgil a generous drink.

"Here's mud in yer eye, Frank," said Virgil, raising his glass.

Bloody Jim mirrored his salute, and they both slammed back a slug of rotgut. Miss Fifi resumed her conversation with Bloody Jim.

Virgil turned away, leaning back on the bar as the piano player struck up Down the Lane with Jane.

"That fuckin' fancyboy really thinks he's somethin'," muttered Jeff from two stools to Virgil's right, scowling at his empty glass.

Virgil, sitting with his back to the bar, ignored Jeff. His eyes were on Mona.

Bad weather was taking shape on the plains. The blazing heat remained, but dark thunderheads were gathering on the southern horizon. A dry breeze had begun to carry dust and grit through the air. A few stragglers on the trail hurried toward Gray Gulch.

A drunken cowboy didn't notice that his six-gun was slipping out of its holster as he danced. It fell, hit the floor, and discharged. The stray bullet caused an unlit kerosene lamp suspended from the ceiling to fall, striking the piano player in the second chorus. An abrupt dissonance accompanied the crash of the lamp to the floor as the piano player slumped unconconcious on the keyboard. Brewster took the opportunity to excuse himself and went out to the street to take a piss.

Mona, blonde tresses plastered to her forehead, made her way to the bar. Virgil handed her a drink. “Thanks Hon,” she said, climbing up onto the stool next to him. She leaned back with her elbows on the bar.

“Hi Mona,” said Jeff.

“Hi Jeff,” said Mona without much enthusiasm. She turned back to Virgil. “So how’s my sweetie this afternoon?” She leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

“Fine Babe," he paused, "I seen you dancing over there with Brewster…”

“Yeah. I guess you heard about him making a little strike yesterday.”

“Yep.”

“I’m just getting what I can before he passes out and gets rolled.” she said.

Virgil had mixed feelings about this. He wasn't happy with Mona being the plaything of every man-jack who came into the Lily with a few dollars in his dungarees. On the other hand, opportunities for respectable employment in Gray Gulch were nonexistent. He barely scratched out enough to keep himself in rice and beans. And rotgut. He considered himself fortunate that Mona had taken a shine to him, and he knew that in her way, she was true. Still, as he sat at the bar keeping an eye out for her safety night after night, Virgil felt an occasional pang of possessive jealousy. They quarreled sometimes, both knowing full well that it was fruitless, even as Gray Gulch itself, was fruitless.

She looked up at him with soft blue eyes. “You okay Virgie?” she said.

He smiled and brushed the damp golden locks from her forehead. “I’m fine Babe…really.”

“Hey Mona, if I said you had a great body, wouldja hold it against me?” Jeff interrupted, leaning toward Mona with a leering grimace, as if he imagined himself to have said something terribly clever.

Mona laughed. “Yeah, when you hit the motherlode Hon, let me know,” she said and turned again to Virgil.

“Here comes Brewster, Sweetie, I’ll see you later.” She gave his hand a squeeze, and sauntered across the dance floor to Brewster’s table.

Virgil smiled as he watched her moving in the red silk kimono, knowing that she put a little extra wiggle there just for his benefit.

The afternoon sky had a sickly, bruised appearance. Massive storm clouds roiled above the plain. Lightning flickered in the distance. Campfires sent thin columns of smoke and sparks spiraling about.

Three horsemen rode into Gray Gulch.

“You like shoes Frank?”, Miss Fifi asked Bloody Jim, lifting a leg to display her open-toed, high-heeled, red slippers.

“Shoes?”

“Yeah, you know…women’s shoes.”

“I suppose so…”said Bloody Jim, “Why?”

“I got a helluva shoe collection.”

“Oh?” Bloody Jim raised an eyebrow, “Indeed!”

“Yep. A helluva shoe collection.” Then in a lower tone, “You wanna come up and see it?”

Just as Bloody Jim was about to reply, the swinging doors of the Gilded Lily burst inward. Silence fell as a stranger stood framed in the doorway, dark against the yellow sky. He was a big man. He strode heavily into the saloon, spurs jingling with each clunk of his boot heels. A bone-handled revolver dangled from the silver-conchoed holster at his hip. He wore a dark broad-brimmed hat that dipped in front, almost covering deep-set eyes, eyes like smoldering coals. He had an overgrown black-and-gray moustache, eyebrows to match, and a large, predatory beak of a nose. His belly hung over his belt buckle. Below his open black duster could be seen boots of plain cowhide, and steel spurs. He stopped and looked about the saloon as if searching for someone.

Two other men entered behind him, similarly garbed and well-armed. One, a black man, lean and tall, had a gaping right eye socket. He sported a gold front tooth, and his hair hung in ropey coils from under his hat. The other, a stocky fellow wearing a checkered coat and derby hat was no less intimidating. He had the thick shoulders of a pugilist, a bullet head, crooked nose, and cold, beady eyes.

The trio stood peering into the crowd, adjusting to the dim light.

The Gilded Lily was silent.

“ANYBODY IN THIS FUCKING HELLHOLE BEEN OUTSIDE LATELY?” The stranger bellowed in a rough voice. He leered about the saloon.

There were a few tentative responses.

“No.”

“Not really.”

“Not me.”

“Nope.”

"Uh-uh."

“WELL I HOPE Y’ALL REMEMBERED YER FUCKIN’ BUMBERSHOOTS!” He let out a gaping guffaw, and turned to his companions. “Might’s well have a drink boys, they ain’t no place else to go.”

They proceeded to seek out a table.

“Howdy.” said Jeff with a deferential grin as they passed him by.

The one-eyed man turned, and leaned into his face with a horrible scowl. Jeff drew back in alarm. He slowly rotated 180 degrees on his barstool, hunching his shoulders under the cyclopean stare. He plinked the edge of his empty glass with a fingernail until the menacing stranger moved on.

A buzz of conversation began to rise in the Lily as the newcomers took their seats at a booth on the wall opposite the bar.

“Holy shit," said Miss Fifi under her breath, "looks like some we got some rough customers."

Bloody Jim said nothing.

Having regained consciousness, the piano player took up a halting version of Love Me till the Cows Come Home, but there was little dancing.

Out side the air had become very still. A huge tumbling bank of black clouds blotted out the sun. Horses whinnied nervously, and pulled at their restraints. Campers began hurriedly moving their tents to high ground. A few fat drops of rain began to fall, leaving craters in the dust.