Devils Unto Dust(33)

Most of these boys look like hard cases and hard drinkers. There aren’t many old-timers, either; most of these boys are truly boys. Hunting isn’t the safest profession; I reckon all these fellows know their odds. I count four other hunters I know from sight at the Homestead, though I disremember most of their names.

“Y’all aren’t drinking,” I say, turning my attention back to our table.

“What’s that now?” Curtis asks.

“Most of these fellers are slewed already. I never knew a hunter didn’t drink.”

“We don’t drink on a job,” Ben says.

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“Bad idea,” Curtis says. “You get loose, you get sloppy.”

“Most don’t care if they get sloppy,” Sam says. “Long as they get some money up front.”

“Where’d you hear that?” I ask Sam. I know it’s true, but I didn’t think Sam had anything to do with hunters.

“Willie, I’ve been helping my pa stitch since I could hold a needle. I hear plenty of stories. Remember Pickett? He killed his own client halfway to Barstowe. Didn’t feel like taking him back.”

“What happened to him?” Micah asks.

“Died in a bar fight, nasty knife wound.”

I shake my head. “Ma said time was, Glory was a nice enough town. People didn’t try to rob you in the street, folks didn’t gamble away their savings. We even had lawmen, of a sort. Damn the Judge and his hunters. What did he expect, when he let killers loose in our town?”

“I don’t suppose he cares,” Micah says. “No offense,” he adds belatedly.

“We ain’t all like that,” Ben says. “Some of us are just trying to get by. Judge might be our boss, but we don’t deal with him any more than we have to. I don’t know Pickett, but I reckon he got his.”

“And we won’t kill y’all,” Curtis adds with half a smile. “That’s just bad for business.”

Micah regards Curtis thoughtfully, chewing on a dry piece of cornbread.

“You know, for hunters, you boys ain’t so bad,” he says.

Sam and I start to laugh, but Curtis nods his head solemnly.

“Here’s how,” he toasts, and raises his glass of water in salute.





28.


A clang comes from the left, and we look over to see a pale, slender man standing up and banging his cup against a table.

“’Scuse me,” he calls, and it takes a moment for silence to come over the hall.

“Thank you,” he says. “Sorry ter interrupt your supper, but we got some news for y’all heading west. The well on mile eighty-eight’s been spoiled.”

There’s a low murmur as the news is repeated.

“We got some folks heading out tomorrow to seal her up, but in the meantime take whatever water you can carry and spread the word. Tha’s all.”

As the voices get loud again, I stand up and make my way over to the man, Micah on my tail. I’m betting this is Lewis; he has a shock of reddish blond hair and a spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

“Are you Lewis?” I ask.

“I’m him,” he says, turning to meet me. We’re the same height, and he meets my eyes directly. “What can I do you for y’all?”

“Reyes says you were on the gate yesterday. I’m hoping you remember seeing my father, Harrison Wilcox?”

Lewis frowns, his brow wrinkling. “What’s he look like?”

“Like me,” Micah says, scowling, “but with a few more pounds and a lot more years.”

“He mighta been with a man called Washburne,” I add.

Lewis squints at Micah, considering. “I seen a man looked like him, but he didn’t give the name Wilcox.”

That’s the first smart thing Pa’s done. “That’s him.”

“Comes ’round a lot, don’t he?”

“Yeah,” I say. “He passed through often enough. Did you see him leave?”

“Can’t say for sure. Maybe I did.” Lewis rubs his hand through his bright hair.

“Please, sir. It’s important. I need to know where he headed.”

“Well, I suppose I saw him goin’ east. Least that’s how I remember it.”

I nod in agreement, but the news somehow leaves me feeling more tired than before. At least I know we’re going the right way. “Thank you, Mr. Lewis.”

We walk back to our table quickly, my head heavy. Curtis sees me and raises his eyebrows.

“Well?”

“He was here,” Micah says.

“I’m not sure when he left, but I reckon it was early,” I say. “And he was going east.”

“So what now? You think he’ll stay in Best once he gets there?”

Curtis and Ben just wait, their faces carefully blank. Micah and Sam look at me, expectantly. The pressure starts to gnaw at me again, the familiar weight of responsibility settling onto my shoulders. This is what I tried to escape, came all the way out here to duck, and still it follows me. I don’t want them to look at me like this, like I’m the one with answers when all I feel is lost. But it has to be this way; there’s no one else I can look to, and they all look to me.