Chasing the Bear

Chapter 3

When they got home, Cash and I told them about what happened. Patrick and my father and Cash all exchanged a look, and my father nodded.

Patrick said, "If you saw him again, could you point out the guy who kicked you?"

"Sure," I said.

"Let's go down and take a look," my father said.

So all of us, including the dog, went down to The Dry Gulch and walked in.

"Sorry, pal," the bartender said to my father. "Can't bring that dog in here."

My father said to me, "See any of the people that gave you trouble?"

I nodded.

"Which ones?" my father said.

"You hear me?" the bartender said. "No dogs."

There were six guys drinking beer together at a big round table. I pointed out two of them. My father nodded and picked me up and sat me on the bar.

"Which one kicked you?" he said.

"The one in the red plaid shirt," I said.

My father looked at Patrick.

"You want him?" my father said.

"I do," Patrick said.

"Yours," my father said.

"Mister," the bartender said. "Maybe you don't hear me. Get that dog out of here . . . and get the damn kid off the bar."

Without even looking at him, my father said, "Shut up."

Pearl sat down in front of the bar near my feet. All the men at the round table were staring at us. My two uncles walked over and leaned against the wall, near the round table. Patrick was looking at the man in the red plaid shirt.

My father walked over to the round table.

"You," he said to one of the men. "Step out here."

"What's your problem?" the man said.

"I don't have a problem," my father said, "you do, and it's me."

"That kid been crybabying about me?" the man said.

"That kid is my son," my father said. "The gentlemen leaning on the wall are his uncles. We're here to kick your ass."

The man looked at his five friends and stood up.

"Yeah?" he said.

They all stood up. My father hit the man and the fight started. Pearl and I stayed quiet, watching. Behind me, I heard the bartender calling the police.

By the time the cops arrived, both the men who had teased me were out cold on the floor. The man in the red plaid shirt was lying outside on the sidewalk. I don't quite know how that happened, except that my uncle Patrick had something to do with it. The other three guys were sitting on the floor looking woozy.

The cop in charge, a sergeant named Travers, knew my father.

"Sam," he said. "You mind telling me what you boys're doing?"

"They harassed my kid on the street, Cecil," my father said. "Stole his milk."

Travers nodded and looked at the bartender.

"I believe I been telling you, Tate," he said, "to keep the drunks inside the saloon."

"They got no call to come in here and beat up my customers," the bartender said.

"Well," Travers said. "They got some call. Your kid gets bothered by a couple drunks, you got some call."

He looked around the room and then at my father.

"Maybe not this much call," he said. "Probably gonna get fined, Sam."

"Worth the money," my father said.

Travers smiled.

"Known it was you three," he said, "I'd have brought more backup."

"Ain't supposed to bring no dog in here either," the bartender said. "Board of Health rule."

"We'll go hard on them 'bout that," Travers said.

My father came over and took me off the bar.

"Probably have to appear in court to pay the fine," Travers said.

"Lemme know," my father said.

He walked toward the door. Pearl and I followed him. My uncles closed in behind us.

And we left.