Cora made her way over to the bar and ordered a drink. When the woman set the whiskey down in front of her, Cora spoke over the din. "You seen Boots around?"
"Boots?" the woman asked. "Yeah, I seen him upstairs a bit ago. Said he was going to get off his feet for a spell."
"Do you think he'd mind some company?" Cora asked, handing over a silver dollar.
The woman looked her over. "Maybe so, but not from you. He tends to like his women a bit younger and more ladylike."
"I ain't looking to take care of his pecker," Cora said. "I just need a few words with him is all."
"He looked a sight testy when I saw him," the woman said, "so you might want to buy him a drink to lighten his mood."
"I'll be damned the day I buy a bartender a drink from his own bar," Cora said. She tossed back the whiskey and handed the glass to the woman. "Thanks for the drink."
"Anytime, honey," the woman replied, moving down the bar to refill glasses from the bottle in her hand. Cora headed for the big staircase that ran along the bar's wall. A breath of cold air blew over her as she passed by the front door. She noticed that the Irishman had vanished, probably in search of a saloon with a better pianist. Shaking her head, she made her way up the stairs. At the top, she turned the corner into the hallway and almost collided with the bartender. Cora took a step backward, startled, but Boots didn't seem alarmed.
"Ah, Cora Oglesby," he said, offering her a thin smile. "What can I do for you on this fine evening?"
Cora grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down the hallway. He went along, the smile never leaving his face. When they were out of sight of the saloon, she pushed him against the wall and shoved the barrel of her Colt into his belly.
"I want some answers, spook," she said, her voice low.
"My, my, such hostility," Boots said. "Whatever have I done to deserve this treatment?"
"Hush your mouth," Cora said, twisting the gun. "You can't fool me. I know you ain't the real Boots because I done put a silver bullet in his brain just this morning."
"Did you, now?" the bartender said. "Well, isn't that a disappointment. And here I was, planning my entire strategy around that bloated corpse. It looks as though you have foiled me again, Cora Oglesby. If you'll excuse me, I must see to the licking of my wounds."
He placed a palm on her chest and shoved. Cora slammed into the wall behind her and slid to the floor. Sucking in a breath, she raised her pistol and fired at the bartender's grinning face. The gunshot clapped her ears as she pulled back the hammer and waited for the smoke to clear.
Boots remained on his feet. Cora's bullet had punched a hole just above his right eye, carving a gouge in the wallpaper behind him. As she watched, the wound closed in on itself as if it never had been there. She tried to fire again, but the bartender was too quick for her. His fingers wrapped around the Colt's barrel and wrenched it from her hand. He tossed the revolver aside and clamped his other hand around her throat.
"No more hostility," he said. "If you don't calm down, I will knock you out and deny you the honor of looking into my face when I kill you."
Cora struggled against his grip, but she couldn't hope to overpower him. After a few moments, she let her hands fall away from his fingers. Boots rewarded her with a sneer.
She spat in his face.
A look of surprise flickered there for a moment before the sneer reclaimed control. "Really, Cora, I would have expected such behavior from a common cur, but not from a lady such as yourself."
"Sorry to let you down," she said, curling her lips to spit again.
Boots clamped a hand on her mouth. "I would advise you not to test the limits of my courtesy, even if you are an old friend." Her eyes reflected her unspoken question. "You don't remember? I suppose it is only natural, what with my wearing this face. In my vanity, I assumed I had left such an impression when last we met that you would discern my poise and wit even through this mask."
Cora rolled her eyes at him. He hauled her to her feet,