She picked up the menus, brought them each a glass of water. While Hank made their breakfasts, Cecil watched them in the mirror behind the counter. He leaned over to Emaline.

“That tall fella there is Jake McCloskey, the boxer. Had his first bout right here in Scottsbluff.”

“Never heard of him.”

“I expect you don’t pay much attention to the fight game. There was a time they thought he was going to be light-heavyweight champ.”

Emaline made a face. “Such a silly sport. I never did understand why people would pay good money to watch men hit each other in the face.”

“There’s an art to it.”

“Oh, Cecil. That’s a lot of hooey. It’s ugly and it’s brutal.”

Once he heard who the man was, Earl Beckman had to amble over to say hello.

“Aint you Jake McCloskey, the prizefighter?”

“Yessir, I sure am.”

Earl put out his hand and the fighter shook it. Earl winced. Jake introduced his trainer, Bucky Betz.

“Well, aint this a treat,” Earl said. “I’ve got newspaper clippins about you. A couple big write-ups when you beat that colored fella, Lionel Kane. So what brings you two fellas to Scottsbluff?”

“Supposed to fight a big Polack from Omaha over here.”

Earl waved Vern and Cecil over, introduced them to Bucky, who squinted at Cecil through a haze of cigarette smoke. “How long has it been blowin like this?” he asked.

“Since about 1929,” Cecil answered. “Or maybe it was ’28.”

“You expect it’ll end anytime soon?”

“When they run out a dirt.”

Earl got up the gumption to ask for a display of Jake’s talents.

“Why don’t you do a little shadowboxin for us, Jake?”

“Aw, folks are eatin their breakfast. Aint right to make a disturbance.”

“No, they aint. Everybody ate a long while ago. We’re just waitin for it to stop blowin.”

“Well then, I guess I got to provide the entertainment.”

Jake climbed out of the booth. Earl helped Charlie push back some tables and chairs to form a square roughly the size of a boxing ring. Jake rolled up his sleeves and began dancing on the balls of his feet, pausing now and then to throw a flurry of punches. Emaline had never seen a man move like that, so easy and fluid. The speed when he unleashed those punches was a little frightening. That beat-up mug did not go with such easy grace.

After watching for a couple of minutes, Earl suggested that one of their own face off against the boxer. No real punches, just a little exhibition. “How ’bout you, Vernon? You’re the youngest and the strongest.”