Unbury Carol(76)

“I’d think it was more like your real name.”

“My name is John, then. I’m heading to Harrows. I’ll be passing through. Nothing more.”

“If you’re James Moxie,” the officer said, crossing his arms, “tell me how you did it and maybe I’ll let you through.”

“That was long ago, Officer. I don’t recall the details.”

“You arnt James Moxie.”

“Do I need to convince you?”

“You can start by telling me how you did it in Abberstown. I’m sure Harrows can wait. It’ll be there whenever it is you arrive.”

“Harrows can’t wait.”

“Is that right?”

Moxie’s eyes flashed white in the darkening sky. “This is how it’s going to go, lawman. I’m going to say good day to you now, and pass straight through your town on my way to Harrows.”

“You can pass all you want. I arnt allowed to stop you. But I’ll sure as pig-shit keep my eye on you every half second you’re here.”

“That’s fine.”

“Is it fine? I wonder.”

The officer stepped aside, and Moxie rode by him on the mare.

Dark-red letters on a wooden stake welcomed the outlaw to Albert’s Port. Beyond it he could see the canopies and storefronts, the masts for small boats on the river, the horses tied to hitching posts, and the people upon the planked boardwalks. From a shadowed awning, two more lawmen on horseback emerged.

Moxie watched them come.

“Our boy up front flashed his badge. That’s a bad sign. Means we got to quit doing what we’re doing and watch you.”

Moxie didn’t respond. The men flanked him as he rode.

“What do you suppose the reason was for us coming out to meet you?”

“Don’t know, Officers.”

“Sure. Don’t know. Frank didn’t say nothing? Didn’t mention why he didn’t like you?”

“I didn’t note whether he liked me or not.”

“We arnt children, now,” the other officer said, chuckling. “Surely he said something.”

Moxie kept his eyes on the road.

“He didn’t believe I am who I say I am.”

“Is that right? That’s suspicious now. What name you give him?”

Moxie breathed deep.

“Mine.”

“Uh-huh. And what name is that?”

“James Moxie.”

The lawmen laughed. One spat in the dirt.

“You arnt James Moxie, fella. And if you were we’d put you away on your name alone.”

“That’s right, I am,” Moxie said.

“Bill,” the second officer said. “Bill…what was it Moxie did? What did he do again?”

“He done outdueled a man without ever drawing is what he did.”

“How’s that?”

“That’s it all right.”

Moxie saw the bridge at the north side of town now.

“Tell me, James Moxie,” Bill said. “How does a man draw blood without ever drawing the gun?”

Moxie answered, “He doesn’t.”

Bill laughed without humor.

“But I wanna know,” he said. “How does a man do a thing like that?”

“He doesn’t.”

“No. He sure doesn’t.”

Citizens of Albert’s Port came out of the storefronts. The colorful evening sky reflected in the glass of the doors they opened. Moxie saw faces behind windows, men holding the reins of their horses, little boys and girls whose play could wait.

“I’ll give you once more,” Bill said, cutting Moxie’s mare off with his own. “What’s your business here?”

Moxie stopped the mare.

“My business is up in Harrows. My horse needs water and I could use some myself. Albert’s Port has more water than you can bottle. Otherwise, I have no business here.”

“And your name?”

“My name is still James Moxie.”

“All right,” Bill said. Moxie knew what would happen next before it did. “We’re gonna bring you inside for a minute is what we’re gonna do.”

Moxie looked to the northern bridge. So close to the continuation of the Trail.

“Take me inside then.”

Bill dismounted and took the reins of both horses. He guided them up Manage Street to the Albert’s Port jail. People whispered and the lawmen told them there was nothing to see, no excitement. At the jail, Moxie dismounted. He stuck his arm into the bag he’d gotten from Jefferson’s schoolhouse.

Bill quickly put his hand on Moxie’s shoulder. “What do you got in there?”

Moxie looked at him. “Water for Old Girl.”

The lawman shook his head no. “Let me see.”

Moxie removed his hand and Bill looked inside the bag. He saw there a pouch of water.

“The mare’s not lying about her name,” he said. “And she could really use some.”

Bill studied Moxie’s face and turned to the other officer.

“Wesley, get the horse some water.”

Then he led Moxie inside.

The station was like others the outlaw knew from his riding days. Jefferson and Moxie had seen many. Six barred cells made a hall beyond two wooden desks. The place was clean, the desks clear of clutter, indicating to Moxie that the sheriff reclining in her chair would be a tough one. The prisoners came to the bars to see who had been brought in.