The Rex has stood on this corner of Montana Street since the Glory Days of Billings' reign as the capital city of the northwest cattle market in the 1880s. From Southern Alberta, northern Wyoming, Eastern Washington, the herds had been driven to converge here at the railheads that pointed East to Chicago. In those days, the Rex was on the right side of the tracks, and the trail bosses and the buyers had feasted on beefsteak and exotic delicacies such as pheasant-under-glass and trout meuniere. The rowdy cowboys had sought out the rough and tumble pleasures across the tracks among the brothels and noodle houses.

Time has worn away the social barricade of the railroad tracks, and the whores stroll casually up to but not past the brass and oak doors of the Rex. Cowboys and businessmen dine at the Rex, and sometimes they return to the Holiday Inn Billings Plaza or the Sheraton with these sullen streetwalkers. Sometimes, they walk out of the doors of the Rex, and they visit the Montana Bar. The Montana Bar is not a casual gathering place for friendly conversation. The Montana Bar is a place where the whores warm up on cold February nights, where a black pimp from Minneapolis named "Train" finds himself marooned in a corner booth, where a Cree down from Rocky Boys Rez leans heavily on a table and raises his head from time to time to stare blankly at two Crows playing pool, and where another Crow Indian named Montie Antelope Sky tends the bar.

Behind the bar, souvenir of a 1975 concert at the Billings Trade Center, is a large autographed photo of Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings. The duo visited the Montana Bar after dining at the Rex and left the picture with Montie. Willie had been especially friendly, joining Montie for the immolation of a fat doobie in the alley behind the bar. Waylon had seemed vaguely troubled by something, and had left the bar early with a regular named Tina Redhawk, promising to return. Montie studied the photo and murmured to the smiling image of Waylon "I reckon you won't be back now, cowboy." For the third time that day, Montie walked to the juke box and tapped in Good-hearted Woman. His attention was drawn to a big raw-boned country boy who was leaning on Train's table and speaking to him in a low threatening voice. Train seemed to be ignoring him, but Monte could feel the electric current building in the smoky air of the tavern as Train sipped his drink and lit a Pall Mall. At that moment Cindy came through the door brandishinga hundred dollar bill, and, distracted by this, Montie never saw Train suddenly rise and punch the country boy in the mouth. He did, however, feel him come reeling past as he slammed into the juke box. As Willie Nelson's voice chanted "the good times..the good times..the good times..", Montie hammer-locked the big guy and leveraged him through the door. "God damn it" he said and ejected the record, giving Train a dark look. Train stared at the far wall and said "he was leanin on me." Then he stubbed out his smoke, grabbed his coat and stood up. "You know the rules," said Montie. "Yeah, I'm goin," said Train."I'll be at the Golden Saddle. See you tomorrow night, Montie." He strolled to the door, then turned to say "I'll buy you a new record, but I don't know why you don't get a CD juke box like everybody else does."

The wind was kicking up out on Montana Street. Montie looked out and saw the usual crowd of bored teenagers standing in the lot across the street where 120 years ago a Crow Tipi had stood, lit by campfire. A large, battered trailer was being backed into five parking spots where Newt Wheatly had been gunned down by Jackdaw Conners in 1881. The driver seemed unaware of the scowls being given him by the gaggle of prostitutes who saw his oversized vehicle as a zoning infringement. Montie was ready to suggest he take it down the street when he noticed the likenesses painted on the driver's door. Willie and Waylon grinned out from under a layer of road grit.

"I'll be a son of a bitch" said Montie.