Hot Coffee and Lead

Keep bellied up to the bar, his hat tipped low, the dust of a long day trailing him like a shadow. He nodded to Billy, the barkeep, and asked for a hot cup of coffee.

Billy disappeared to the back and returned with a steaming mug, setting it down in front of Keep without a word. Keep gave a quiet thanks and wrapped his hands around the mug, savoring the warmth.

Down the bar, a youngster leaned back, grinning, and let out a chuckle that carried more edge than humor. Keep didn’t pay him any mind. He’d crossed enough trails to know that silence was a man’s best friend, especially when trouble was stirring.

A minute passed, and the kid loosed a remark about men who drank coffee instead of whiskey. Still, Keep said nothing, his focus on the black liquid in his mug.

But the kid wasn’t ready to quit. A few breaths later, he prodded again, something about “old men and liquor,” tossing his words like rocks in a pond to see what ripples he could raise. Keep finally looked his way, then to his coffee, his eyes calm as a prairie sky.

“Ain’t gonna say nothing, old man?” the kid jeered, leaning in.

“Nope,” Keep replied without looking up.

“Not got the guts, huh?” the young one taunted, his voice slipping into a sneer.

“Yup.”

“You gettin’ smart with me, old man?” the kid asked, his tone sharpening.

Keep let a small, knowing smile play across his face and took another sip, his grip easy on the mug.

And that is when the kid reached out to grab Keep by the shoulder, trying to spin him around. But as he did, his breath caught, feeling something solid and cold pressed right under his ribs.

Keep was looking him dead in the eye now, and his voice dropped low.

“See, son,” he started, his voice smooth as the roll of a tumbleweed, “I don’t drink no more ’cause it makes me mean. And these days, I’m too damn old and too damn tired to wrassle a young coyote like you. I’d just as soon be done with it.”

The kid gulped, his bravado slipping like sand through his fingers. Catching the look, Billy went ahead and poured a double shot of whiskey and set a bar towel next to it.

“Now,” Keep said, keeping his tone steady, “you’re gonna take this drink on my coin, and you’re gonna keep that yap of yours shut. You follow?”

The kid nodded, eyes wide as he slowly let go of Keep.

Keep eased his revolver back, slipping it into his belt, but the kid’s nerves got the better of him, and his hand flicked to a knife. Before he knew what hit him, Keep’s Texas .44 came down square on the top of his head, dropping him like a sack of flour.

Keep crouched down, pried the knife from the kid’s limp hand, and placed it on the bar. “Billy, stash this behind the counter, and you might want to keep that scattergun close. This pup here’s got a learning curve.”

He hauled the kid up by his collar, keeping his tone calm, almost fatherly. “You’re gonna drink that whiskey and keep this rag on your head so you don’t bleed all over Billy’s nice counter. That clear?”

Too dazed to argue, the kid nodded as best he could, clutching the bar towel to his scalp. Keep polished off the rest of his coffee, dropped a couple of twenties on the counter, and turned to Billy.

“That’s for the coffee, the kid’s whiskey, and the rag he’s leaking on,” he said, straightening his hat. He glanced once more at the young man, his voice as even as a gun’s barrel. “You’ll get your knife back in thirty minutes. And if you so much as think about coming after me, Billy here’s got my leave to put both barrels in your backside.”

Billy nodded, a glint in his eye. Keep clapped his hat back on and gave a nod to the barkeep. “Sorry, you had to be pulled into this mess, Billy. I’ll make it right.”

And with that, Keep strode out, calm as a Sunday morning. He climbed into his truck, gunned it, and left for his ranch, a dust cloud marking his passage.

Inside, the kid sat still as a stone, obeying every word Keep had laid out.