“It’s true enough that we went on a couple of walks,” I said, “but I wouldn’t call it keepin’ company. She’s a purty little thing, but it didn’t take too long afore she kindly wore me out. That girl could talk for a week an’ never git rid of a idea. I don’t believe she ever said a thing I cared to listen to.”
Miss Harmony was grinnin’ an’ pokin’ that bacon with the end of a green switch. “Little too girly for you?” she asked.
“I believe she was,” I said.
“I never had much of a chance to be a girly girl,” she said. “My mother and older brother died of the wet lung in seventy-two. I started helping my father at the forge and in the livery then. He and I were all we had. I didn’t have time to become a lady.” “I don’t think you can become a lady,” I said. “I think ya either are or you ain’t. Whatcha choose to do or whatcha havta do don’t mean much. Yer a lady all right, Miss Harmony. Ain’t a speck a doubt in my mind about that. Looks right good on ya, too.”
She fussed with the bacon for a while, then. I let the silence roll on, mostly ‘cause I couldn’t think of nothin’ else to say. Purty soon, she turned the bacon, added more a them busted up switches to the little fire, an’ spoke up.
“How’s your house coming along?” she asked.
I tolt her about all that stuff I got from the riverboat salvage.
“You bought curtains and a rug?” she said.
“I did,” I said. “I thought the blue in both of ‘em might set each other off some. An’ the white ceilin’ will reflect lamplight quite a bit. The pitcher an’ bowl both have a little blue in the trim, too.”
“Why, Ruben Beeler,” she said, “that sounds a little girly.”
We et that bacon an’ sopped them biscuits in the grease a little. When we finished, Miss Harmony went back to her saddlebags an’ brung out a can a peaches an’ a opener.
“Homer said you were partial to peaches,” she said.
We speared them peach slices with willa switches an’ took turns drinkin’ the juice. I gotta admit that I believe I never enjoyed eatin’ by a campfire more. When we finished, she rubbed the skillet out with sand, put it in the bag the biscuits had been in, an’ stuck it an’ that empty peach can back in the saddlebags. She had just set back down on that slicker when Willie pulled his head around an’ started lookin’ off down the draw toward that stand a river birches. I watched him some, an’ he held his stare. Purty soon, he tossed his head an’ pawed the ground a lick or two, then went back to lookin’ toward them trees.
“What’s the matter?” Miss Harmony asked me.
“Willie see’s somethin’ down in them trees,” I said. “Stay set.”
I got up an’ walked over to where the horses was tied an’ commenced to mess with my saddle bags while I shaded myself behind the horse an’ looked down that way. A glint of reflected sunlight winked an’ caught my attention.
“Miss Harmony,” I said, “there’s somebody in that copse a birch trees down there that’s watchin’ us.”
“All right,” she said.
“We had a feller follow us the other night, ya know,” I said.
“Homer told me, Ruben.”
“I don’t cotton to bein’ spied on,” I said. “I believe I oughta ride down that way an’ see what this feller wants.”
“Whatever you think is best,” she said.
Slow like, I got aholt a the cinch an’ tightened it back from where I’d loosed it when we stopped to eat. I moved up by Willie’s head an’ eased them reins from around the branch they was wrapped on. I flipped the offside rein up over his neck, took aholt of both of ‘em, pulled his head around to aim him a mite, an’ hissed at him. Willie bolted outa there like his tail was on fire. He made about three jumps afore I bounced up into the saddle an’ he was at full speed, stretched out an’ goin’ for all he was worth. I hung on him low, an’ we pounded toward them trees.
We was halfway to ‘em afore that feller showed hisself an’ got to his horse, two thirds of the way afore he got into the saddle. He went off down that draw as hard as he could go, with Willie gainin’ on him. We warn’t mor’n a hunnerd feet behind him an’ his bay when he turned sharp to the right to climb up a cut an’ git outa that draw. He was askin’ too much a his horse. That bay tried to do it for him but slipped an’ fell. He come off on the left an’ hit purty hard. I didn’t have to do a thing with Willie. He slid to a stop all by hisself. I kicked out of the stirrups an’ lit on my feet, draggin’ out the Schofield as I come around that bay while he was gittin’ up. He jumped outa my way an’ run off, clearin’ my sight to the feller layin’ on the ground. The fact that he was wearin’ a blue vest didn’t surprise me none. He was settin’ up lookin’ confused. His hat was off. I pointed the Schofield at him.
“You do one damn thing I doan tell you to do, mister,” I said, “an’ I will shoot you in both feet an’ leave you out here to walk back. You hear me?”
He nodded, tryin’ to ketch his breath.
“Ain’t that nice,” I said. “You leave that hogleg a your’n right where it is an’ roll over on your belly.”
He done it. I eased back by Willie, took my knife an’ cut two a them latigo strips offa my saddle, an’ come up behind that fella where he lay.
“Put yer hands behind yer back,” I tolt him. He done that, too.
I tied his hands together behind his back, then tied ‘em to the back a his gunbelt. I flipped him over an’ took his Colt. He looked up at me.
“What are you fixin’ to do with me?” he said. He was scairt. He needed to be.
“I’m thinkin’ about strippin’ ya nekked, whipin’ ya with my rope a while, an’ letting ya walk back into town that way,” I said.
“I’m a deputy, yew sonofabitch!” he said.
“Not out here you ain’t,” I said. “I tolt yer boss I didn’t want nobody followin’ me around, an’ he sent you out here, anyway. He knowed that if I caught ya, I’d git some upset, an’ he didn’t care. He’s playin’ a game with you, pard. Git up.”
He flopped around some then got to his feet. I holstered my revolver an’ took to the saddle.
“Walk,” I said.
“Where to?” he asked.
“To town.”
“All trussed up like this?” he said.
“You betcha,” I said. “Just like that.”
“What about my hat?” he said.
“Fuck yer hat,” I said.
He looked at me hard for a minute, but then he started walkin’.
We hadn’t gone very far when I saw Miss Harmony come up over a rise on the chestnut, leadin’ a bay horse. She rode up an’ smiled at me.
“Why thank ya, M’am,” I said.
“You are very welcome, Sir,” she said.
I helped that fella git in the saddle. Then, I took my piggin’ string, put the loop over his head, an’ tied the other end to the horn. I took his reins, got back on Willie, an’ we struck off toward town. Miss Harmony smiled at him settin’ there tied by the neck to the saddle horn like he was.
“Try not to fall off,” she said.
We got back near town an’ I thanked Miss Harmony for a lovely ride an’ mentioned she might wanna go home.
“Not me,” she said. “I’m going with you.”
I figgerd she knowed her mind, so we rode through town an’ down to the Sheriff’s Office. Several folks watched us walk down the main street, an’ a few of ‘em tagged along. Yont was settin’ out front when we arrived. He got to his feet.
“Arberry,” I said, “I tolt you not to send anymore a yer hounds in my direction, an’ here you throwed this mongrel at me. You can have yer dog back now. The next one you send will come home bleedin’. The one after that might not come back at all. You can keep the piggin’ string.”
I reined Willie around an’ me an’ Miss Harmony rode back the way we come.
Yont never said a thing.
We was most of the way back to the livery afore Miss Harmony spo
ke up. “You were a lot nicer to that deputy than you could have been,” she said.
“Warn’t his idea to come out there,” I said. “He really didn’t take no action agin us, just watched.”
Miss Harmony grinned then. “Good thing we didn’t go skinny dipping,” she said
My face got hot as a pepper. She laughed until she had to kindly bend over a mite. When she looked at me, she started up again.
“Ruben,” she said, “you are such a lovely shade of red.”
I didn’t know what to do with that, so I let Willie step out a little.
When we got to the livery, Homer was sweepin’ up around the forge. He come walkin’ over.
“I didn’t expect the two of you back so soon,” he said.
“Had to make a delivery to the sheriff,” I said.
“One of his deputies came to spy on us,” Miss Harmony said. “Ruben ran him down, tied him up, and took him back.
Homer looked at me. “Did ya now?” he said.
“I told Yont to leave me alone,” I said. “He didn’t.”
“He’ll look you up in a day or two,” Homer said, “after he decides on his new tactics. Watch yerself.”
I grinned at him. “I thought that was yer job,” I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I had too many feathers in my feet to settle down, so I left Miss Harmony at the livery an’ come on back to my place. Arliss warn’t nowhere that I could see, an’ I set to workin’ on my ceiling. In a few minutes, Homer come walkin’ in. He looked around some an’ smiled.
“Gonna have to be a heluva big bedroll to git all this shit in it when Yont runs you outa town,” he said, grabbin’ the end of a board an holdin’ it up for me.
“That sonofabitch ain’t runnin’ me nowhere,” I grumbled.
Homer got to grinnin’ at me. I didn’t like it much.
“I want a ‘possum in here,” I said, “I’ll go shoot one.”
He commenced to laughin’ then. I glared at him, but it didn’t even slow him down. Instead, watchin’ him wipe his eyes ‘cause of it got me kindly tickled, too.
“All right, Goddammit,” I said, “I’ll settle down.”
“You should, Rube. A feller can waste a lot a hisself in bein’ mad.”
“Ol’ Marion did fine with gittin’ mad when he took off down that slope with that coach gun when we went at that Duncan bunch,” I said.
“What?” Homer said. “Marion wasn’t mad, boy. He just comes to a focus, like. There wasn’t nothin’ else in the world for him right then but them outlaws an’ what needed to be done. Wasn’t no fear, wasn’t no anger, wasn’t no thinkin’, wasn’t no decision, just will. His will. When he gits like that, Rube, he is a force.”
“I reckon I just don’t understand that,” I said.
“Ain’t so, Rube,” Homer said. “You understand it just fine. You just don’t know ya do.”
With Homer’s help, I got the rest a my ceiling up afore dark.
I noticed a light burnin’ in the shop an’ I found Arliss at his bench, fussin’ with a ol’ Remington.
“Busted firin’ pin,” he said. “I’ll fix it in the mornin’.”
“Where ya been?” I asked him.
“I have been enjoyin’ the company of the fair gender,” he said.
I looked at him. He sighed an’ shook his head.
“I been over by Houston House, boy,” he said. “Out back.”
It come on me then what he meant. “Oh,” I said. “You been in there with the whores.”
“I been in there with one of ‘em at least,” Arliss said. “I ain’t as young as I used to be. Little gal calls herself Asia. She claims there’s a new feller in town. Hard man by the name a Arkansas Bill Cole.”
“Who’s that?” I said.
“I heard the name before, but I don’t know much about him. I think he’s a bounty hunter or somethin’ like that.”
“Would Homer know him, ya reckon?” I asked.
“Most likely he would.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll go talk to him.”
I was some hungry, so I went to the Sweetwater an’ got a fried egg sandwich an’ et it on the way to the livery. I found Homer settin’ on a bench leanin’ up against the barn, smokin’ in the twilight.
“I thought I was shed a you for the rest of the day,” he said. “What brings ya by, Rube?”
“Arkansas Bill Cole,” I said.
Homer took a puff afore he spoke. “Where’d you hear that name?” he asked me.
“A whore over at the Houston House told it to Arliss,” I said. “Claimed he was in town. You know him?”
“Not personal,” Homer said. “I seen him once, over in the bootheel. Thin feller, near as tall as Marion. Was carryin’ two black handled Colts in a double crossdraw rig. I heard he was a marshal once, then a law in Saint Louis for a spell, then took to bounty huntin’. Dead or alive warrants. Way I heard it, they was all mostly dead when he brung ‘em in. Last I knowed of him he was down around Fort Smith, I believe it was. He’s a shootist, I reckon.”
“What do you supose he’s doin’ here?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Homer said, “he’s just passin’ through.”
“You believe that, Homer?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t think I do. Bill Cole don’t go nowhere without a reason, I speck.”
I set with him for a spell, but neither one of us said much.
It was full dark when I left.
I was walkin’ back to Clary’s place when I come on Clarence Banks, out on patrol. I slowed down when I passed him.
“Clary’s,” I said. “Room four, upstairs.”
Clarence never even looked at me. He just kept walkin’.
I went upstairs, shed my boots, my gunbelt, an’ my hat, checked to make sure my little ol’ shotgun was on the nightstand by the cot, an’ set. I didn’t light no lamp or nothin’. Seemed like a hour went by, so I reckon it was only about fifteen minutes before I heard a little knock on my door. I opened it an’ Clarence come in. The room was durn near pitch black.
“Two steps an’ yer at the cot,” I said. “Set yerself.”
He fumbled around fer a second an’ took his seat.
“I been lookin’ for you,” Clarence said. “Arberry’s got a new man in town.”
“Arkansas Bill Cole, I guess,” I said.
“Yessir,” Clarence said, “that’s him. Arberry got aholt of him a while back, I hear. I didn’t know he was even comin’ ‘til he showed up. Bounty hunter, I think. Come in from out around Lawrence in Kansas. Maybe Wichita.”
“Did you meet him?” I asked.
“Nossir, I didn’t,” Clarence said. “I just seen him. Wears two Colts with black grips.”
“How many deputies does Yont have?” I asked him.
“Used to have thirteen, then Mervin got knifed, then Wayne Combs got his head busted up, then you brung Fred Kessler in tied up on his horse. Sheriff Yont didn’t like that one little bit. Run Fred off less that a hour after you brung him in. Told Fred if he saw him again, he’d shoot him hisself.”
Clarence couldn’t see my grin in the dark. “Any of you boys real pistoleros?” I asked.
“Couple think they are, but naw, no actual high standard slingers, I guess,” Clarence said. “Some of ‘em will stand with Yont though, I believe.”
“So now,” I said, “there are ten deputies, eleven countin’ Arkansas Bill Cole.”
“I doan believe you could call him no deputy,” Clarence said. “I was outside Arberry’s office in the jailhouse when he give Mister Cole a blue vest to wear. Mister Cole tossed it back on Arberry’s desk an’ walked out. Once he got ouside, he laughed.”
“Then we got Cole an’ ten deputies to deal with,” I said.
“You got nine deputies, Ruben,” Clarence said. “I ain’t agin’ you boys. I’m fer ya!”
“I’m sorry, Clarence. I didn’t mean nothin’ by that. I was countin’ heads, not intent
ions.”
“I’ll do anythin’ I can for you an’ Mister Arliss” he said.” I’ll keep my ear to the rail an’ let ya know if’n I hear somethin’ comin’.”
“Thank you, Clarence,” I said. “I know I can count on ya. If you cain’t find me, tell Arliss if anything shows up.”
“I shore will, Ruben,” he said. “I got to go now, though. I’m ‘sposed to be out on my patrol.”
I laid on my cot starin’ into the dark for a spell after Clarence left. I don’t know how late I was up, but mornin’ come early enough. I rubbed my eyes some, an’ set up. After I got woke up a little, I looked out the winda. It was real cloudy an’ rainin’ purty hard. My slicker, as far as I knowed, was still out by that little pool. I’d plumb fergot it in all the excitement. I got on my boots an’ hat an’ went downstairs. I hustled out to the convenience, then run up, real quick-like, to the drygoods store. The feller there gimme a grin when I come drippin’ in. His name, I had found out, was Elmo McCoy.
“Mornin’ there, Mister Beeler,” he said to me. “Rainin’ is it?”
I looked at him, water ploppin’ off my hat. “I doan know, Mister McCoy,” I said. “I didn’t notice.”
He thought that was some funny, an’ we stood there grinnin’ at each other.
“I hear you and that Clarke girl brought one of Arberry Yont’s deputies back yesterday tied up on his own horse,” he said.
“That’s the God’s truth,” I said. “That Harmony Clark is one tough woman when she gits riled up.”
He grinned at me some more, then spoke up. “I got a extra cup a coffee in the back if you happen to know anybody that might want it,” he said.
“Dammit, Elmo,” I said, “it ain’t good business to pick on no payin’ customer.”
“Excuse me, Sir,” he said. “Lemme git you a cup a coffee.”
He disappeared through the curtain an’ I stood there, drippin’.
I got me a frock coat in waxed lightweight canvas, went back to Clary’s, put on the Schofield, an’ walked to the Sweetwater. Warn’t much of a crowd, ‘cause a the rain, I reckon. I give my order to the tired lookin’ dark-haired waitress an’ purty soon, she set down a plate of fried potaters, ham, eggs, an’ biscuits with honey. I tore into it, an’ was just about done, when Arberry Yont stepped in outa the rain. He was wearin’ one a them big ol’ drover’s coats with a shoulder cape an’ was leanin’ some to his left when he walked. I was curious what he might have hid under that coat. I loosened the Schofield under the table, toed out a chair, an’ smiled at him.