As they topped the hill, son Titus looked back over his shoulder at Runaway below. “I wasn’t finished down there.”
“Yes, you was,” Dundee said.
That was the last Son Titus spoke for many miles. He rode along with his head down, sleeping on horseback. It suited Dundee all right, for so long as Son was asleep he wasn’t belly-aching.
I ought to charge old John Titus double for this job, he thought. Hunting cowthieves is what I hired for. I didn’t come here to wetnurse a chuckle-headed button.
But now and again he would glance at the relaxed face of Son Titus and feel something vaguely akin to liking. Son could have stood there and let Karnes shoot him, but he hadn’t. He had pitched in. Maybe it wasn’t because he felt any desire to help Dundee; maybe he just wanted the excitement. No matter; if it hadn’t been for Son Titus, Dundee knew he’d probably be the cause of somebody having to do a job of digging in the rocky ground that was Runaway’s Boothill.
Son Titus stirred finally. He blinked, shut his eyes awhile, blinked some more and came awake. His face twisted as he worked up spittle and tried to clear his mouth of a bad taste. “How far we come?”
“A ways. You ought to swear off of whisky.”
“Truth is, she done most of the drinking. I didn’t really drink much. Just a few little snorts.”
Dundee had sort of guessed that.
Son said: “I figured a girl like her would hear lots of things. Figured if she got to drinking it’d loosen her tongue up, and then maybe I’d find out something.”
“Did it work thataway?”
“Some. Mostly it made her affectionate. Of course, there wasn’t nothing wrong with that, neither.”
“What did you find out, when she wasn’t being affectionate?”
“Found out a little about you, Dundee. Found out they’re scared of you in Runaway.”
“Did that convince you I ain’t no cowthief?”
“Why else you reckon I’d’ve bothered to holler at you when that feller was fixing to let air through your brisket?”
“I sort of wondered.”
“Well, it wasn’t on account of your good looks and disposition.”
At length they came to a creek, its clear water gurgling over the big polished stones that lay in its shallow bed. Son Titus licked his lips. “Last night I wouldn’t of give you a nickel for all the water in Kingdom Come. Now it’s worth ten dollars a gallon. I’m going to step down and drink up about a hundred dollars’ worth.”
Son dropped on his belly and stretched out over the creek’s bank, cupping the palm of his right hand to bring water up so he didn’t have to dip his face under. He drank long and thirstily, pausing only to catch his breath.
“Ain’t you afraid that stuff’ll rust your gut?” Dundee asked.
“Not with the coating I put on it last night.”
Dundee watered the horses. Son Titus finally seemed satisfied. He pushed to his feet, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. “Nectar of the gods. You ought to try it, Dundee.”
Dundee hadn’t noticed being thirsty, but he guessed it was the power of suggestion, watching Son Titus, “It’s a ways yet to the next water. I reckon maybe I will.”
He stretched out on the bank, a little above where Titus had lain. He was drinking when he heard Son’s saddle creak and felt the reins jerked from his left hand. He rolled over and jumped to one knee. Son Titus was riding his own horse and leading Dundee’s up the creekbank. Out of reach, Son paused to look back. “Go on and drink your fill, Dundee. You got lots of time.”
“You bring my horse back here, Son Titus!”
“I hope you’re a good walker, Dundee. It’s a far piece back to Runaway, or out to McCown’s, whichever way you decide to go. Me, I could tell you where to go.”
“Son Titus . . .”
“Like I said, Dundee, I ain’t finished all my business in Runaway yet. That’s where you’ll find your horse.” He swung his sorrel around and led the bay. “Adios, Dundee. Enjoy yourself.”
“You crazy button, I’ll . . .” Dundee broke off as he watched Son ride away laughing, into the lengthening shadows. He hurled his hat to the ground. He wanted to stomp it, but that wouldn’t have been enough. One of these days he’d stomp Son Titus instead. Times, he wished he’d never strayed through Titusville, had never seen old John Titus or Son. He ought to turn his back on the whole damned mess and let them steal the T Bar blind.
But he knew he was in it too far to pull out now. He’d follow on through. But one of these days, when it was over . . .
He clenched his fists and recited Son Titus’ ancestry for several generations back.
Dundee was a cowboy, and cowboys seldom walked. It was contrary to their religion. A cowboy would descend into many types of sin before he would risk blisters on his feet. Dundee considered the distance. It might be a little shorter to the McCown place than to Runaway, but not enough to offset the time it would take to get a horse at McCown’s and ride all the way back. Another thing, the trail back to Runaway was easier followed in the dark.
Muttering, he climbed the creekbank. He slipped, caught himself, hurled a rock as far as he could throw it and started the long walk.
The night was far gone when he finally got to Runaway. Legs aching, feet blistered and sore, his anger simmering like bitter roots being boiled for backwoods medicine, he dragged himself up to the front gate of the wagonyard. Down the street he could see most of the buildings standing dark. A lantern still flickered in front of the Llano River Saloon, one at another bar farther along. Way down at the end of the street he saw a dim red glow.
The small barn was dark. Well, by George, if he was awake, everybody else had just as well be. “Hey!” he shouted. “Where’s the man that runs this place?”
He heard a grumbling from a blanket spread on hay in the corner. He struck a match and held it down close. The drunken face he saw there, the eyes blinking in confusion, did not belong to the man he was looking for. “Hey! Stableman, wake up!”
From another corner he heard the squeak of steel cot-springs as a man turned over on his blankets. “You damned drunks . . . you won’t let a sober man get no sleep. Go find your own horse and leave me be.”
In the reflected moonlight Dundee made out a lantern. He lighted it and turned up the wick. “I ain’t drunk.”
The yardman swung his bare feet off to the ground. He was wearing long underwear, only half buttoned. He yawned, then peered irritably at Dundee. “Oh, it’s you. You’ll find your horse in the corral and your saddle on the fence. That button left them here.”
“How long ago?”
“I don’t know. I been asleep.”
“Is his horse here too?”
“He kept his. Just left yours.”
“Whichaway did he go this time?”
“Like I told you before, I don’t notice nothing that ain’t my business. That way my health stays good. Now, take your horse and get out of here so I can go back to bed.”
Dundee saddled, swung up and started to ride down the street. The yardman met him, still barefoot and in the long-handles. “Wait, cowboy, you owe me a hay bill.”
“How much?”
“Two bits. I ought to charge you extra for waking me up.”
Dundee dug for it. A thought struck him. “You heard any shooting in town since that boy came in?”
The stableman held the coin into the moonlight and fingered it suspiciously. “Since you ask me, I heard a couple shots down the street.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“Yep. I turned over and went back to sleep.”
Dundee rode down the dark street, glad to be off of his sore feet and glad most of the town was asleep. He hoped Jason Karnes was, too. To be on the safe side, he reached down and drew the carbine from its scabbard.
Keeping out of the lantern’s glow, he peered inside the Llano River Saloon. He saw the bulky figure of Roan Hardesty hunched over a table studying a hand of cards. Opposite him, Katy Long sat waiting for him to make his play. Best Dundee could tell, most of the chips were on her side.
Dundee rode to the house where he had found Son Titus the last time. He didn’t see Son’s horse tied anywhere. The house was dark now, except for the glow of a lantern in one of the rooms in the far back. Dundee walked partway back for a look-see, but a curtain was drawn across the window. He returned to the front, pushed the door open and walked in.
“Son Titus! You in here?” No reply. “Son Titus, I come to get you!”
He heard movement down the hall. He brought the carbine up, just in case. A door opened and lamplight came floating toward him, a long shadow preceding a woman. She stopped, the lamp in her hand, her eyes blinking in sleepiness. “What’s going on in here? Don’t you know what time it is? Decent folks are all asleep.”
It was the same red-haired, raw-boned woman he had crossed before. Her stringy hair and the pouches under her eyes didn’t help her looks any. Dundee said: “Son Titus came back in here tonight. I want him.”
The woman scowled. “He ain’t here.”
Dundee saw no reason to accept her word. “Where’s that girl he was with, the one called Lutie?”
“Lutie’s asleep. You ain’t going to bother her.”
“I asked where she’s at.” Dundee took two long steps toward the woman. She began to retreat. “Now, mister. . . .”
“I’ll find her if I have to tear this place apart. Her and him both. Now, where’s she at?”
Grumbling, the woman turned down the hallway, still carrying the lamp. “She’s back thisaway. But you ain’t going to find out much talking to her.”
She opened a door and pointed. The girl lay across a brass bed, her loose gown pulled halfway up her legs, the blanket thrown off.
“Lutie,” Dundee demanded, “Where’s Son Titus?”
The girl stirred but never opened her eyes. Dundee noticed a bottle lying by the bed. It was empty.
The woman said: “That friend of yours, he brought that bottle with him. Must of let her drink most of it by herself. Time he left here, she was so drunk you’d of thought he’d hit her with a sledge. She won’t be worth nothing for two days. It’s a sin the way that girl likes whisky. It’ll be the ruin of her one of these times.”
Dundee grasped the girl’s shoulder and shook her. “Lutie, I want to find Son Titus.”
The girl moaned, but that was all.
The woman said: “Like I told you, you ain’t going to get nothing out of her. She’s too drunk.”
Dundee stepped back, hand tight on the carbine. Where would he go from here?
“How long’s Son been gone?”
“Must’ve been midnight . . . one o’clock. After he left, I came to see about Lutie. This is the way I found her.” She glared. “When you find that Titus, you tell him I don’t want him back in here again, ever. He’s a bad influence on my girls.”
Dundee turned to go. “One more thing. Feller told me he heard some shooting tonight. Was that before Son left, or after?”
The red-haired woman rubbed a hand across her face, trying to remember. “There’s always some drunk shooting a pistol around here. I expect it was Titus done it. He left here looking awful satisfied with himself.”
Dundee glanced once more at Lutie. I’ll bet.
Frustrated, uncertain, Dundee walked outside. At the house next door, a woman stepped to the little porch and blew out a red lantern, then retreated inside. That was the house Dundee had searched yesterday, looking for Son Titus. He considered looking again, but he figured Son wouldn’t have left Lutie’s place to go to another just like it. Dundee looked up the street. The only light he could see now was the single lantern in front of Katy Long’s saloon. The rest of the town was in its blankets.
Dundee swung onto the bay and rode back up there. He tied the horse in the darkness and walked around to the rear of the place. He found a rear door and tried it. It was unlocked. He entered the dark hall and carefully made his way along it, guided by the moonlight through the windows. At the door leading into the main room of the saloon, he stopped to look for a moment before stepping into the lamplight. He saw only two people: Katy Long and old Blue Roan. Roan was gulping a shot of whisky and watching Katy rake in another pile of chips.
Dundee said, “You ought to know better than to gamble with a good-looking woman.”
Roan turned quickly, surprised. His hand dropped toward his pistol, then stopped as his blinking eyes recognized Dundee. Katy Long was startled, but she never moved.
Roan recovered his composure. “How come, Dundee? I’d rather play cards with a good-looking woman than with any of the ugly men I’ve gambled with.”
“Hard to keep your mind on the cards.”
Katy Long said evenly: “I believe that’s the first compliment you’ve paid me, Dundee. You must want something.”
“I want Son Titus. Where’s he at?”
She smiled thinly. “You’d make a mighty poor jailer, Dundee. Can’t even keep one tight-britches kid under control.”
“He was in here, wasn’t he?”
She nodded. “Bought another bottle, early in the evening. Said you’d probably come in sometime during the night. Enjoy your walk, Dundee?”
He ignored the barb. “My feet are sore and my patience is run out. I want to know if you saw Son Titus any more after he bought that bottle?”
“Nope. You’ll probably find him where you found him yesterday.”
“I already looked. He left.”
“Then there’s not much telling. Maybe he went home.”
“Shots were fired somewhere on the street a while ago. What were they?”
Katy glanced at Old Roan, and both of them shrugged. Roan said: “Some drunk, most likely. I didn’t hear any more commotion, so I didn’t go look.” He added ruefully, “I was winning at the time.”
Dundee glanced at the pile of chips in front of the woman. “That must’ve been a long while ago.”
Katy said seriously: “Dundee, he probably went home. You look like you need sleep. I can fix you up with a cot back yonder. You can go find him in the morning.”
“I’ll sleep after I’ve found him. I think I’ll tie him to a wagonwheel with wet rawhide and then sleep while the hide dries.”
Roan said: “I still got orders out, Dundee. Nobody hurts him.”
“Does everybody obey your orders?”
“Not always.”
“That’s why I got to find him before some of your boys do. If they haven’t already.”
Dundee turned to go. His tired legs betrayed him, and he almost fell. Roan Hardesty’s big mouth turned downward sourly. “He just thinks he’s going someplace. You better bed him down, Katy. Next time I’ll get them chips on my side of the table again.”
She smiled. “Glad to give you the chance. Bring lots of money.”
“I always do. But I seldom leave here with any.” He looked at Dundee. “Wherever that boy’s at, he’ll keep till daylight. You rest yourself. Where’s your horse?”
“Out back.”
“I’ll drop him off at the wagonyard. Good night, Katy.”
“Good night, Roan.”
Dundee slumped in a chair and watched Katy Long rake the poker chips into a small leather bag. “You always beat him like that?”
“I let him win now and again, so he doesn’t lose hope.”
“Crafty, ain’t you?”
“I’ve been taking care of myself in a man’s world for a good many years now. I think I know how.” She counted and sacked more chips, glancing up occasionally at Dundee. She had poker player’s eyes; he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Finally she said: “You’re really worried about that thick-headed kid, aren’t you?”
“I’m mad enough to chew up nails and spit them in his face.”
“But worried, just the same?”
He nodded.
She said: “You know, Dundee, the first time I saw you I figured you were just another tough drifter with a cartridge case where your heart ought to be. But I believe I misjudged you. Times, you’re damn near human.”
She arose, walked to the front and blew out the lantern that hung on the porch. She shut the door and came back, lighting a lamp that sat on the end of the bar. “Blow out that overhead lamp for me. Then come on back and I’ll show you a bed.”
He followed her out of the dark saloon and into the hall. She opened the door to the room where she had treated Jason Karnes’ wound so many weeks ago. He said: “I’ll sleep a while, then slip out. I’ll try not to make any fuss when I go.”
She stood in the doorway, holding the lamp. Dundee stared at her a moment, a strong urge building in him. He reached up and took her chin and kissed her. She backed off a step, surprised.
“What was that for?”
“I just wanted to do it.”
Her eyes studied him unflinchingly. “Comparing me to that country girl?”
“That’s not it. . . .”
“Well, do I measure up?”
He shook his head, not knowing what to say. “It’s like I told you out yonder that day . . . I haven’t touched her. I . . .”
“You’ve wanted to.”
“Sure I’ve wanted to. I just ain’t done it.”
“So you come to me, figuring anything you do to me is all right.”
Angering, he said: “I didn’t mean to get your hackles up. I don’t have to sleep here if you don’t want me to. I’ll just go on like I’d figured to in the first place.”
She stared at him awhile longer, and he thought he saw the laughter come back into her eyes. She blew out the lamp and set it on a table. She said: “Empty talk, Dundee. You’re not a man to start something and not finish it. You’ll stay right here.”