Devils Unto Dust(12)

Ned blinks at me. “Aw, Willie, you don’t want to get mixed up with a hunter.”

“I don’t want to. I have to.”

“Is that the way of it, then?” Ned sighs. “All right. Elsie would know better than me who to trust. How much you looking to spend?”

“I guess as much as it takes. How much is a hunter?”

“A good one, not like Washburne? One fifty, maybe two hundred.”

My heart sinks; it may as well be the four hundred. “I don’t . . . I don’t have that much,” I whisper. Everywhere I turn is a dead end; I just can’t win.

Ned leans forward, one hand rubbing the gray stubble on his chin. “You ever play cards, Willie?”

I give him my most withering look.

“Right, your pa. Well, you learn all sort of useful tricks playing cards.”

“I’m sure.” I’m not really listening. There’s a burning pressure behind my eyes that I’m not sure has anything to do with the whiskey.

“Bluffing, for instance.” Ned smiles at me. “Bluffing can be a very useful trick. Say, for example, you can’t really spare the money to call a bet. If you got a good enough poker face, you bluff and you go all in. You play the game right, you may come out on top.”

And suddenly I’m listening very hard to what Ned is trying to tell me. “What happens if—if your bluff gets called?”

Ned shrugs. “Well. In poker, you lose your money. But sometimes, could be you got nothin’ left to lose.”

I meet Ned’s eyes and nod slowly, hoping I understand. The whiskey is making me feel fuddled, but in a pleasant, comforting way, like all the hard edges of life are blurred and softened. I can understand why men lose themselves to drink, if this is the way it makes them feel. For the first time in as long as I can remember, the hard knot of panic in my chest starts to loosen as the whiskey spreads its warmth. I feel bold, and almost happy. Ned gives me his bright smile and starts to whistle as Elsie comes up behind him with her hands on her hips.

“Uncle, what in tarnation is Willie drinking?”

“It’s hardly more’n a drop, Elsie.”

“Ned, I swear, sometimes . . . ” Elsie shakes her head. “You’re gonna get the child drunk, her with nothing on her bones and you with nothing in your head. Willie, you need to get some food in you.”

“It’s all right, Miss Elsie—”

“Hush, child. It’s on the house, on account of Ned’s poor judgment.”

I should protest harder, but I can hardly turn down a free meal. I try not to look too much like a poor orphan when I smell the stew that Ned sets in front of me.

“There you go. Best SOB stew in town,” Ned says proudly.

“Ned!” Elsie smacks him lightly on the arm, a look of long suffering on her face.

“Beggin’ your pardon.” Ned winks at me. “Son of a gun stew, that is.”

It’s been so long since I’ve had any meat other than snake, I have to force myself to take small bites and chew. Even though the meat is offal, and old offal at that, it’s still the best meal I’ve had in days. I feel somewhat guilty, thinking of my family and the empty pantry at home.

“Now then,” Ned says as I eat. “Elsie, our Willie here needs a hunter.”

Elsie narrows her eyes at me. “You sure about that?”

I nod. “I am.”

She purses her lips and breathes out hard. “All right then. Let me see who’s here.” Elsie looks over my head, scanning the sea of faces across the room. “You don’t want Jennings, that man can’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

“And not Grady,” I tell her. “I’m not feeling kindly towards him today.”

“I’d trust you with Lady Jane, but she’s holed up with a bad leg. Ramos, maybe? How much you looking to spend?”

I swallow a mouthful of stew and shoot a quick glance at Ned. “One hundred,” I lie, hoping my voice sounds steady.

“Hmm. That’s too low for most of the practiced hunters, them that’s been at this awhile. You got two choices. If you want to hire a professional, you’ll have to settle for an old-timer or a drinker. Someone like Dollarhide or Sanchez.”

Ned snorts. “Dollarhide is half in a whiskey barrel, and Sanchez can’t see farther than I can spit.”

“What’s the other choice?” I ask. I’ve seen Dollarhide around the Homestead, and he’s a wicked drunk. Word is he killed a horse trader up north before he came under the Judge’s protection. I wouldn’t trust him to watch his own front, let alone my back.

“You could hire one of the amateurs. They’re inexperienced, mind you—”

“Green as deer grass, you mean,” Ned interrupts.

“But affordable,” Elsie finishes, ignoring the old man. “And maybe it’s better you hire one of the new boys. Most of these men would rob you soon as they get you outside the fence. They’d leave you stranded and steal everything, even your virtue. These youngsters may be all hat and no cattle, but at least they’ll try to bring you home in one piece.”

I think it over for a moment. I can shoot well enough and I don’t tire easily. What I really need is someone I can trust. “All right, one of the new hunters it is. You got a name for me, Elsie?”