Hank Jones pulled Lester’s saddlebags from beneath his brother’s bed. Being dead and all, Lester would not need them and, as it happened, Hank did. The bags weren’t very good. They were old and the leather stiff, but Hank could only take with him what he could carry, and he wanted to be able to carry as much as possible. With his own bags and Lester’s, he could haul most of what few clothes he owned and at least a couple of days’ worth of food.
Hank was not a man given to sentiment, but a part of him hated to be leaving the place. It was where he was born, where he grew up. Probity and its surroundings were all Hank had ever known. But since that damned Polly Pratt took the witness stand and spilled her guts at the trial the day before, there was no choice but to run. And that was what Hank planned to do.
He pushed himself up from the floor and threw the bags over his shoulder. He’d load Lester’s bags with some canned goods, jerky, and what was left of the batch of biscuits he’d made that morning. That should last him awhile.
He hadn’t decided yet where he was going. First he thought about heading up into the mountains and waiting until all this blew over. But it was winter, and living in the mountains would be chilly. Hank Jones liked to avoid chilly living as much as possible. Besides, he wasn’t sure things would ever blow over. There was a judge in it now and that new lawyer in town. Even if Sonny could convince the sheriff to forget about what Polly had said, Hank doubted the lawyer or judge would soon forget.
He had filled Lester’s bags with the food and was now in his own room shoving clothes and shaving gear down into the other set of bags.
As he packed, Hank pondered where he should go. Making decisions had always been an inconvenience for Hank. For every reason he could think of to do something, he could always think of at least two good reasons not to do it. He was in the midst of debating the good and bad about heading east into Nebraska when he heard the clop of a horse’s hooves. He felt his balls tighten at the sound. Hank wouldn’t have thought any law would be out to his place this soon. With a shaky hand, he drew his revolver and rushed to the window.
The early morning was still cool. The rider was far enough away that Hank couldn’t make out the face, but he recognized the thick buffalo-hide coat the man wore. It was only Sonny Pratt. Hank hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until, in his relief that it was Sonny, he felt the air rush out of him.
He holstered his gun and returned to packing his things. After a bit there were footsteps on the porch. “Hey, Hank,” Sonny called. “You in there?” The front door opened, and Hank heard Sonny come in.
“Back here, Sonny.”
There was the jingle of spurs as Sonny moved through the house and came into the small bedroom. “What you doing?” he asked.
Hank had the things he was packing spread out over the bed. Lester’s bags were at the foot of the bed on the floor. Sonny went over to them and looked down. The buckle was broken on one of the flaps, and Sonny lifted the flap with the toe of his boot. “So, Hank,” he asked, “you going on a vacation or something?”
“I’m getting my ass outta here. That’s what I’m doin’.”
“You’re leaving? How come?” Sonny crossed the room and leaned against the wall opposite Hank.
Hank lifted a pair of socks and brought them to eye level. There was a hole in one the size of a half-dollar. He checked the other one. There was no hole in it, so he shoved the pair into the bag. “How come?” Hank said. “Christ, Sonny, what d’ya think? You heard them boys talking in Buck’s last night the same as me.” He stopped his packing long enough to meet his friend’s eyes. “They’s coming after us, Sonny, for what we done to that damned sister of yours. Maybe for what you done to Lester too.”
Lester had been a dumb one. And the truth was that Lester would rather go whoring than eat. Hank had always found that an aggravating flaw in his brother’s character. But Hank had to admit he sometimes missed the kid. Not that Lester didn’t have coming what Sonny gave him. He did. Lester knew better than to be talking to that lawyer fella the way he was. But still and all, from time to time Hank did miss the dumb bastard.
“They is coming after us this time,” Hank said again, “and the thing to do is get.”
Sonny shook his head. “Naw,” he said, “you’re being hasty, partner.” He said it pod-ner, the way the old cowboys used to say it when he and Sonny were kids. “They don’t have anything on us.” Sonny’s voice was soft the way it always was. Hank had never heard Sonny raise his voice to a soul. Hank knew the madder and more dangerous Sonny got, the softer his voice became. When he was his angriest, Sonny barely spoke above a whisper. Hank, on the other hand, was a screamer. When he got mad or upset, he would yell. That was the way average folks were, as far as Hank knew. But not Sonny Pratt. Sonny was the soft-spoken sort. “It’s Polly’s word against ours,” Sonny said. “And as far as Lester’s concerned, why, hell, they can’t prove a thing.”
“Remember, Sonny, it ain’t the county attorney or Sheriff Collins who’s in charge this time,” Hank said. “That lawyer’s in charge, and I hear he’s a smart one.” He resumed his packing. “I ain’t sticking around to see if he can prove things or not. I’m gettin’ the hell out.”
“If you run,” Sonny said, “that’s as good as confessing.”
“Not if they don’t catch me, it ain’t.”
“Where are you planning to go?”
“I ain’t decided. Nebraska. Maybe Colorado. Anywhere far away from here’d do.”
Sonny took off his hat, shoved his hair back, then put the hat back on. “Well, Hank,” he said, “I think you’re making a mistake. You might as well be writing those folks a letter saying we’re the ones who did the crimes.”
Hank had finished with one bag and now began filling the bag on the other side. “Sonny,” he said, “I’ve been doin’ things your way ever since we was boys. I gotta admit, you are a faster thinker than me, and mostly your ways’ve been best. We’ve raised us some hell and had us some fun at every turn. But I got a feelin’ that this time we’re in deep. Let me finish up here, and then let’s ride over to your place, get some of your things, and both of us light out. What d’ya say?”
Sonny gave a smile. “Now, you know I could never do that. Why, this is my home, the same as it is yours. I wouldn’t be happy anywhere else, and you know deep in your heart you wouldn’t be happy anywhere else neither.”
“Well, I know I wouldn’t be happy down in the state penitentiary,” Hank pointed out. “That’s for damned sure.”
Sonny shook his head. “You are truly a worrier, aren’t you? You always have been. No one’s going to the penitentiary. I can handle this lawyer.”
“That may be, but this time you’ll be handlin’ him without me. I am changin’ my location as fast as that nag of mine’ll get me somewheres else.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that, Hank. As your friend, I’m telling you it’s not a wise thing. It’ll make us both look bad if you run.”
“Then you best come along. That’s all I can say.” Hank tucked his extra pair of long johns into the bag, buckled everything up, and bent to pick up the bags on the floor. He looked the man who’d been his boyhood friend right in the eye. “I’m right about this, Sonny.” He tapped himself on the chest. “This time, I am right. We’re in for a fall if we hang around here.” He threw both sets of bags over his shoulders. “The only thing for us to do is leave.”
Sonny made no comment, so Hank turned for the door. As he started to leave the room, though, he did hear his friend say something, but Sonny was behind him now, and he said it so softly, Hank couldn’t make out what it was.