Chapter Thirty-Six

Long Bill Longly was hanged on the 15th of December under a wintery sky with most of the town turned out for the event. A circuit judge named Flagg sentenced Longly, and, when he had heard the judgment, he had looked at Flagg and said: “This is one hell of a Christmas present you’ve given me. I hope you know that!”

Flagg had hammered his gavel down hard and said: “If I could hang you twice, I would.”

John Henry Cole didn’t go to the hanging. He went to Shorty’s Diner instead and had a cup of coffee and smoked a shuck.

“See you didn’t go?” Shorty said. “Me, neither.”

“It’s not something I would take any pleasure in, seeing a man hang,” Cole said. “Even if it is Long Bill’s hanging.”

“I guess they’ll drop him through the trap whether me and you are there or not,” Shorty said. “I think Wayback went.”

“Where’s Cleo?” Cole asked.

“Buying herself another dress,” Shorty said. “Woman sure has a thing for dresses.”

“You thinking of getting married?”

“You think she’d have me?”

“She could do worse.”

Shorty squinted through the smoke of his cigarette. “Hell, I reckon she could.” He grinned.

“I hear tell the town committee is considering hiring Bart Bledsoe as the new city marshal,” Cole said.

“That’s another thing,” Shorty said. “I think he’d do all right, but I sure do hate to lose a good waiter like him. Man’s conscientious.”

“Life goes on.”

“Sure does. What about you? What’re your plans?”

“Thinking of going up to Nebraska, see Ella.”

“Huh!” he grunted. “I ain’t surprised. But I thought you told me there was some local joker up there, looking to horn in?”

“Who knows? Maybe she’s married by now. Thought I’d just go and see what’s up.”

“You thinking of coming back this way?”

“It could happen,” Cole said. “But with Ike dead, there’s not much here for me.”

“Friends,” he said. “You got friends here. Me and Cleo and Bart to name a few. Friends is an important thing to have.”

Wayback came through the door, stomping the snow off his boots. “Well, he’s gone to perdition,” he said. “Long Bill is probably dancing with the devil in hell right now. Good hanging. You boys should’ve been there.”

“Do you want some coffee?” Shorty asked.

“Could you lace it with a little sour mash?”

Shorty spilled some whiskey into Wayback’s coffee and pushed it across the counter to him. Wayback tasted it, smacked his lips, and said: “ ’At’s good. Where’s Cleo?”

“Buying a dress.”

Wayback’s face screwed itself up. “ ’At’s too bad. I like lookin’ at her when I come in.”

“Don’t look too hard,” Shorty said. “Say, you ever waited tables before?”

Cole shook hands with Shorty and Wayback and went to the room he kept at Sun Lee’s. He was looking over some of his things for the trip to Nebraska when Sun came in.

“You leave again, Mistah John Henly?”

“This time, maybe for good, Sun.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I solly to see you go. You funny man, I gonna miss you. Maybe I keep the room fol you case you come back.”

“Keep what’s still here for me. If I don’t come back, sell it for my rent.”

Cole shook hands with him. Sun Lee was a warm, friendly man with a gentle spirit and the right outlook on life. He would miss his company.

Cole walked down to the livery.

Harry Slaughter, the liveryman, was repairing a bridle. “Come for that off-color horse, did you?” he asked.

“Came to see if you were interested in buying her,” Cole said.

“Hmmm. How much you want?”

“Eighty dollars,” Cole said, “and I’ll throw in my Dunn Brothers saddle.”

“Eighty’s a lot,” he said.

“Take it or leave it.”

“Done,” he said, and pulled a roll of scrip out of his pocket.

“I’d rather it was in gold,” Cole said. “Double eagles.”

“I’ll have to go up to the bank if you want double eagles.”

“I’ll wait. The train doesn’t leave for an hour.”

Slaughter left.

Cole went to the stall where the bird had a mouthful of hay. “This is where we part company,” he said.

Her ears pricked up and her big dark eyes came around to look at him.

“You sure turned out to be a hell of a horse.” She tossed her head as though she half understood what he was saying. He spoke a little Spanish to her and reached in his pocket for some lumps of sugar he’d taken from the diner. He held them in the palm of his hand while she sniffed them for a second, then the soft muzzle dipped down and lapped them up.

“I guess you’ve given up trying to bite the hand that feeds you,” Cole said. “It’s a lesson a lot of us hardcases should learn to appreciate.”

He took a brush and a currycomb and worked it over her hide.

Slaughter came back with the gold coins in his hand.

“Here’s your double eagles,” he said. “Eighty dollars, four double eagles, just like you wanted.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Cole said.

“What? You trying to hold me up for more money?”

“No. I’ve decided not to sell.”

He looked sorely disappointed. “The saddle, neither?”

“No, I’ll need the saddle if I keep the horse.”

“Well, I guess it’s your horse and saddle to do with what you want,” he said.

“Sorry for the inconvenience.”

They shook hands and Cole threw a lead rope over the bird and hefted the Dunn Brothers saddle in his free hand, and walked down the street.

“You don’t know how bad I could have used that eighty dollars,” he said to the bird.

She walked along behind him like she was worth a thousand. Cole was heading back to Shorty’s Diner. He didn’t want to, but he was broke and had to ask Shorty for a loan, even if it meant he had to swallow his pride.

He was almost there when Bart Bledsoe came running up the street, calling after him. He had a piece of yellow paper in his hand.

“Mister Cole. I’ve a wire just came for you,” he said, nearly out of breath.

Cole put down the saddle and took the telegram.

“Pretty nice, huh?” Bart grinned.

“Damn right it’s pretty nice.”

“Hell, you earned, I’d say.”

The telegram was from Montana Territory. It said simply:

Justice has been done. My boy can rest in peace now. Have sent the ten-thousand-dollar reward money to the bank in Cheyenne to be deposited in your name. Thank you for letting me know that Aaron’s murderer has been captured and will be hanged. Respectfully, Ethan Jensen

Cole, still holding the telegram, looked at the bird and said: “For a couple of hardcases, we’ve done pretty good.”

THE END