Where Have You Gone, Billy Mayfair?

Wilbur Sanders suddenly appeared right out of the blue standing just inside the door. He was a mighty imposing figure in his black frock coat and white shirt and tie, wide-brimmed hat pulled down to his eyes. He had a neatly trimmed black beard and a rock solid face. Seemed like everybody in the saloon stopped talking at the same time. “I’ve got something to say to you boys, and I’m going to say it quick.” He looked around shooting bullets with his eyes. My wife Hattie was out shopping the second day we arrived in town, and she heard the dirtiest, foulest most unchristian language she’s ever heard in her life. Right outside here, on the public boardwalk. She’s afraid to take the children out of the house for fear they’ll hear more of that same execrable talk. So I’m telling you right now to stop it! Stop your cursing and swearing and insulting remarks in front of the women and children of this town.” His words were strong and clear and rushed out without a hitch. I had never heard the word execrable before, but I sat there flabbergasted by the man’s nerve, walking into the Elkhorn by himself and delivering a sermon to the worst roughs in town. Had to respect him for that. That wasn’t all either. After looking around with a deadly stare he said, “I also want to remind everyone here that this town is part of the union of the United States of America. If I hear any more seditious talk, I’m going to the law about it. There’s no place for traitors in Bannack. If you have any sense you’ll pay heed to what I say.”