The Heavenly Table(50)

“Hard to say,” Cane said. “At least the bleeding’s stopped for now. That’s the main thing.” He stood up and took a drink from the whiskey bottle, then passed it to Chimney.

“What about the bullet?”

“It’ll have to stay. We start diggin’ around for it, we might make things worse.”

“Well, I don’t reckon it matters much. Hell, Bloody Bill carried fifteen or twenty around inside him, and it didn’t hurt him any.”

Cane was quiet for a moment, then said, “You do know somebody just made him up, right?” It was a question he’d thought of asking several times over the last couple of weeks, whenever his brother spoke of Bloody Bill as if he were a real person, but he’d kept putting it off, partly because he feared what Chimney’s answer might be, and partly because he wasn’t sure it made any difference in the long run anyway.

“Course I do,” Chimney replied, handing the bottle back. “I’m not that f*ckin’ stupid. Still don’t mean it can’t be true. The ol’ boy that wrote the book had to get his ideas somewhere.” He sat down and leaned his back against the wall, looked over at Cob passed out flat on his back on the floor, breathing loudly through his mouth. “You and me was lucky, wasn’t we?”

“What, that we didn’t get shot?”

“No,” Chimney said, “that we weren’t born like him. I mean, hell, even if he lives, he don’t have much to look forward to, does he?”

“I don’t know,” Cane said. “Before the old man died, he was probably the happiest one of us.”

“Only thing that proves is how dumb he is.”

Cane shook his head and took another drink, then capped the bottle. He debated if he should remind Chimney that the only reason they were in this predicament in the first place was because he’d insisted on stealing a few cans of beans instead of paying for them, but decided that keeping the peace was more important right now. And besides, if Cob lived through the night, tomorrow Chimney would probably be bragging on him for being such a tough bastard. “Well, what about you?” Cane asked. “What is it you look forward to if we get away with this?”

“Me?” Chimney said. “I’m gonna drink and f*ck and carry on for ten or fifteen years, then meet me some nice girl and settle down. Maybe have a couple brats.”

“Ten or fifteen years?”

“Sure,” Chimney said. “Shit, I’m only seventeen.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“How about you?”

Cane hesitated. He was sure his brother wouldn’t understand what he looked upon as a life worth having, but what did it matter? Hell, they could all be dead tomorrow, and all of their dreams gone with them. Pulling a cigar from his pocket, he lit it, then said, “I remember one night we was walkin’ through this town with Pap. I think it was in Tennessee. I was maybe fifteen, I reckon. Cold, rainy ol’ night. We were hungry as hell, been on the move all day. We passed by this big house that was all lit up inside, and I saw a man leaned back in an easy chair with his feet propped up by a fire. And on the wall behind him was more books than I ever imagined there was in the world. Rows of ’em. Then some woman came into the room and—”

“What’d he do then?” Chimney asked. “I bet he f*cked her, didn’t he?”

“No, it wasn’t like that.”

“So was she too old or ugly or what?”

“Like I said, it wasn’t like that,” repeated Cane, regretting now that he’d even mentioned it in the first place.

“What the f*ck?” Chimney said. “A bunch of books and some puss walkin’ in on ye? That’s as crazy as Cob and his heavenly table horseshit. I don’t know about you sometimes, brother.” He moved over to the empty window frame and peered out at the dark tree line across from the house. “Better go ahead and get ye some sleep. Sounds like you need it. I’ll keep the first watch.”

Cob came to the next morning, a bit surprised that he wasn’t still on his horse. He tried to raise up, but he’d never felt this tired in his life. He saw Cane sitting on a warped and splintered wood floor covered with dust and grit and purplish balls of coon scat, his back leaned against the wall, reading one of the newspapers Chimney had taken from the store. A small pile of feathers from where a bird had been eaten by some animal lay over by the entrance to the other room. “Where are we?” he asked.

Cane looked up. “Some old house we found.” He set the paper aside and picked up a canteen.

“So them men quit chasin’ us?”

“Maybe,” Cane said. “We ain’t sure yet.” He held the canteen to Cob’s lips with one hand and lifted his head with the other.

“Where’s Chimney?” Cob asked after he had drunk his fill.

“I’m right here,” Chimney said. Swiveling his head to the left, Cob saw his other brother squatted down, looking out the front window. Beside him was the rifle they had stolen from the storekeeper. Other guns had been placed on either side of the door, and a wad of bloody rags was tossed in the corner.

“How long we been here?” Cob said.

“Since last night.”

“Boy, when I first woke up, I thought for sure we was back at the shack on the Major’s place.”