Follow The Stone, Page 3

“You’re coffee’s good, too,” I said.

  We chewed our rabbit.

  “How long have you and Wayne been traveling together?” Phoebe asked.

  “Maybe two years.”

  “And in all that time you’ve never heard him speak?”

  “Nope.”

  “That seems inconceivable.” She said. Then softened her tone. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me, coming in here, barking at you like an angry dog. I seem to have lost my manners.”

  “You been through a lot.”

  “Yes.”

  We ate in silence ’til we finished. Then we shared the rest of her coffee. By and by she said, “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Shrug? What do you mean?”

  “He looks like a haystack made out of bones.”

  “He’s more sideways than upright,” I agreed.

  “His body is all scrunched up like an elderly man with a severe hunchback,” she said. “He seems unable to walk upright, though he moves faster and quieter than any human I’ve ever witnessed.”

  I nodded.

  “But he moves more like a sand crab than a man,” Phoebe said.

  “That’s a good way to describe it,” I said. “And it’s true that when scamperin’, Shrug covers a lot of ground.”

  “Do other people call him Shrug?”

  “Some. But he’s got lots of names.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, to me he’s Shrug, and you call him Wayne. And Indians around here call him Weeshack.”

  “Weeshack?”

  “Means Grasshopper.”

  “Well, that seems disrespectful.”

  “Oh no, ma’am. Shrug is highly respected by the Indians. They tend to keep a wide berth when he’s in the area.”

  She nodded, thoughtfully.

  “What happened to him?” she said. “Do you know?”

  I sat quiet a minute. Then said, “A cowboy told me Shrug got flattened in a stampede as a child, and kept growin’ sideways afterward.”

  “Did you ask him about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “If Shrug wanted me to know, he’d a’said somethin’, or signed it out. But I believe it. If there’s one thing that rattles Shrug to this day, it’s a stampede.”

  “You’ve been in one?”

  “About four months ago, along the Arkansas River.”

  “Buffalo?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wild horses?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, what type of stampede was it?” she said.

  “Snappin’ turtles.”

  “What? There’s no such thing as a turtle stampede!”

  “Tell that to Wayne.”

  She shook her head. “Speaking of Wayne…”

  “Yes?”

  “How can you sit there and tell me you didn’t know he could speak?”

  “It never come up.”

  She showed a look of disbelief. “How is that possible?”

  “Shrug keeps to himself. We been together two years, but I only see him a few minutes a week, at most.”

  The dyin’ fire cast a glow on Phoebe’s face, then a shadow.

  She said, “If I live to be a thousand, I’ll never understand pioneer men.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You won’t live that long. Not out west.”

  4.

  “I intended to ride the trains from Philadelphia to Wichita,” Phoebe said, next mornin’, while washin’ her face with canteen water.

  “Only the train don’t go beyond Rolla,” I said.

  “My parents were grievously misinformed at the train station in Philly. Is it true that Wichita is four hundred miles?”

  “From Rolla? It’s all of that.”

  Phoebe said, “I searched the entire city of Rolla to see if anyone was planning a trip.”

  “And naturally they weren’t. So what, you planned to walk all the way to Wichita?”

  “Of course not. I was told if I could get to Waynesville, I could catch a stage coach to Springfield. And another from there to Wichita.”

  “No stage has ever stopped in Waynesville that I know of,” I said. “And the one they did have in Springfield went broke last month.”

  She frowned.

  I said, “What’s in Wichita that’s so important?”

  “My husband.”

  I looked at her left hand.

  “You ain’t wearin’ a ring,” I said.

  “It’s an arranged marriage.”

  “You’re a mail order bride?”

  “That’s a harsh way to put it,” she said. “Mr. Pickett and I have corresponded for six months. We’ve exchanged photographs. He’s a widower with a wonderful ranch, and a comfortable house.”

  “He sent you a photograph?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “How you know it’s him in the picture?”

  “He’s been vouched for by no less than the Wichita Justice of the Peace.”

  I figured the Wichita Justice of the Peace could be bought for ten grains of gold, but I didn’t tell her that. Hell, if she was bent on marryin’ a stranger, whoever Mr. Pickett was, he’d probably do. If not, Phoebe wouldn’t face any shortage of marriage proposals in Wichita. Men outnumber women twenty to one there, and though sharp-tongued, she was as comely as any I’d seen.

  “You set out on foot for Waynesville by yourself?”

  “The man at the train station told me it wasn’t far.”

  “When we get to Rolla, I want you to point out the man who told you that.”

  “I’m not going back to Rolla,” Phoebe said.

  “The hell you ain’t,” I said, catching her wrist in mid-slap.

  “Let go of me!”

  “You’re gonna have to stop tryin’ to hit people.”

  “You’re going to have to stop cursing.”

  I gave her a hard look, then shook my head. Lord, she was pretty. “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay?”

  “Hit me.”

  “What?”

  “Hit me five times now, and I’ll owe you five curses.”

  “You can’t pay for curses in advance.”

  “Ma’am, five curses could fly out of my mouth in the same sentence.”

  “Why, that’s a terrible thing to have to admit!”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But that don’t make it less true.” Then I said, “Me and Shrug are headin’ to Rolla this mornin’, and ought to be there by noon. On Wednesday we’re escortin’ some women from Rolla to Dodge City, by way of Springfield. Sorry to say, we hadn’t planned on stoppin’ in Wichita this trip, but Newton’s only twenty miles away.

  “Wait—you’re actually going through Newton? Mr. Pickett’s ranch is just a few miles north of there.”

  “Well, that makes sense. Newton’s hopin’ for a rail spur, and land’s a bargain there, compared to Wichita. Anyway, you’re more than welcome to ride with us,” I said. “For a fee.”

  “How much?”

  I thought a minute. Helpless as she was, I would’ve taken her for free, just to keep some crook or scoundrel from takin’ advantage of her. But it’d be improper to make that type of offer. Phoebe had no horse, and probably couldn’t shoot a gun. Eighty was a fair price. But she might say no to that much money. And she was powerful pretty.

  “Twenty dollars, gold,” I said.

  “Mr. Pickett will pay the fee.”

  “And if he don’t?”

  She fell silent. Probably worrying Mr. Pickett might not be all she hoped.

  “Ma’am…”

  “Please. Call me Phoebe.”

  “Phoebe, if he don’t pay the fee, I won’t worry about it. I’d be honored to take you to Newton to meet your mail-order husband. And if he ain’t the man you want, I’ll take you to Wichita.”

  “And if things don’t work out for me there?”

  “Well, me and Shrug’ll be comin’ back through Wichita two weeks later, and we’ll take you to
Rolla and get you on a train back to Philadelphia.

  Phoebe’s mouth curled into a warm smile. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkled and danced and the look she gave me was as welcome as a dry log on a winter fire. I bit the inside of my lip while thinkin’ Mr. Pickett a lucky man.

  “Mr. Love,” she said.

  “Call me Emmett.”

  “Emmett, I’m going to say yes to your generous offer.”

  I nodded. “Okay, then.”

  We gathered up our gear and I leaned over and interlocked my fingers to give her a leg up onto Major’s back. She placed her tiny foot in my hands, and said, “Four hundred miles is a long journey.”

  “Yes ma’am, it is. And a dangerous one, too.”

  “It will probably be very difficult for you to refrain from using profanity,” she said.

  I chuckled. “S’pect you’re right about that.”

  She hauled off and slapped the shit out of me, five times.

  5.

  With its tree-lined streets and mountain views, Rolla, Missouri, was one of the prettier towns I’d seen east of the Colorado territory. Compared to Newton, Kansas, where Phoebe was headed, it was like the Garden of Eden. When I walked into town leadin’ Major behind me, Phoebe in the saddle, the first building we came upon that I hadn’t seen before was the new court house.

  “Well, I guess that ends the battle,” I said.

  “What battle?” Phoebe asked.

  “They’ve been fightin’ with Dillon to see which town would be named the County Seat. This new court house ought to wrap things up.”

  We stopped long enough for me to strap on my gun belt. Then we started movin’ again, toward Miss Patty’s Boardin’ House.

  “Where’s Wayne?”

  “Shrug don’t enter towns much.”

  “Why not?”

  “People laugh and point at him.”

  “That’s abominable. He saved my life.”

  “He saved lots of lives, but folks don’t know it to look at him.”

  We passed the train station.

  Phoebe said, “How did such a small town manage to get train service?”

  “A railroad contractor name of Bishop moved here. Had he moved to Cherryville, they’d a’ got the rails. Rolla’s little, but it’s pretty, don’t you think?”

  “I haven’t got eyes for it. My experience here was quite unpleasant.”

  “Well, maybe it’ll grow on you this time.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You know much about the place?”

  “No. And don’t care to.”

  “Rolla’s only been a town for two years,” I said. “It’s named for Raleigh, North Carolina. Ever been there?”

  “No.”

  “When the locals held a vote to name the town, a bunch from Raleigh said they could get families to move here if they named it Raleigh. They won the vote, but the folks here pronounced it Rolla, and that’s how it’s been ever since.”

  “I wonder why you think I care,” she said.

  “It’d be like if you move to Newton and everyone there calls you Feeba.”

  “That’s absurd. I wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “Not much you could do about it, I s’pect.”

  I tied Major to the rail in front of Miss Patty’s, and Phoebe slid off the saddle.

  “I’m glad you did that,” I said.

  “What, dismounted?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, to tell the truth, I wasn’t quite sure how to help you down. I never seen anyone ride side saddle before. Makes for a comfortable ride, I s’pect, if a woman’s bottom is narrow enough to fit.”

  “Mr. Love, I suggest you keep such thoughts about women’s bottoms to yourself.”

  “Well, it’s a compliment, really, to have such a nice one.”

  “Am I to expect similar comments from the men in Kansas? Or is just your mouth that’s as foul as a soldier’s latrine?”

  I smiled. “I s’pect most Kansas men should know a fine rear end when they see one. Whether they’ll comment on it as honestly as me is another issue.”

  “That’s enough!” she said, though I could swear she seemed about to smile while sayin’ it.

  “Emmett?”

  I turned to see Hollis Ford walkin’ toward us, Hollis bein’ Sheriff of Phelps County.

  I said, “Hollis.”

  Hollis wore his gun belt low, his holster tied to his leg with a rawhide strap.

  “You puttin’ together another haul?” he said.

  “I plan to.”

  “There’s been a few askin’ about you. Two or three at Shingle’s, a few more at Lick and Casey’s.”

  “I’ll speak to ’em. Any mail orders?”

  Hollis looked at Phoebe. “Looks like you found the one I know about. She goin’ with you?”

  “She is.”

  Hollis was quiet a moment. “I see you’re heeled.”

  “Thought it wise.”

  “There’s no trouble here that I know about.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Holllis went quiet again, content to stare at me. I stared back. Then he said, “When you plan to head out?”

  Thing is, I don’t like folks to know when I’m leavin’ a place. As a known gun hand, I sometimes ruffle feathers in the towns I visit, and them that know when I’m leavin’ might set out to bushwhack me.

  “Wednesday, after breakfast,” I said, knowin’ it weren’t true.

  “Around nine?”

  “Probably closer to ten.”

  “I’ll spread the word.”

  “I’d be obliged,” I said.

  He gave me a long, slow look, then tipped his hat to Phoebe, and said, “Ma’am.”

  Phoebe nodded, and Hollis turned and walked away.

  6.

  The tall, lanky kid had on a silly lookin’ hat.

  “You Emmett Love?” he said.

  “I am.”

  “You can’t have our whores,” he said.

  He must a’been waitin’ for me to show up, since I’d only got ten feet inside Shingle’s Dance Hall before he stepped in front of me.

  “You can keep all them that want to stay,” I said.

  “They all wanna stay.”

  A few locals edged around us, close enough to hear, but far enough so they could jump out the way if bullets started flyin’.

  I said, “Wanna bet?”

  “Huh?”

  “I bet you five dollars at least two whores will want to come with me.”

  He stiffened. “Guess we’ll never know, will we?”

  “Not ’til I ask ’em,” I said.

  He gave me a squint-eyed look and said, “I heard you’re the best rifleman in Missouri. That true?”

  “Probably.”

  “Better than Vince Tuttle?”

  “I don’t know Mr. Tuttle.”

  “Well, Vince Tuttle can shoot the hair off a gnat’s ass.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  I nodded. “Well then, yeah, I’m better than Vince Tuttle.”

  “You don’t know the man, how can you say that?”

  “Vince may be hittin’ gnat hair, but trust me, he’s shootin’ at gnat. If I’m shootin’ gnat, there’ll be gnat for supper.”

  There was chucklin’ all around us, and the tall, lanky kid’s face turned red. He said, “Even if you’re the best rifleman in all creation it don’t matter.”

  “It don’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He pointed at the six gun in my holster and smiled. “’Cause you ain’t carryin’ one.”

  “Well, it’s hard to swing a rifle around a bar and shoot all three of you at the same time.”

  “What three?”

  “You, the guy sittin’ at the table with the pocket watch in front of him, and the guy hidin’ upstairs, behind me.”

  “You can’t even see him!”

  “Don’t need t
o, son. This is what I do.”

  He puffed his chest up a bit. “It’s what I do, too. And anyways, I don’t need my cousins to back my play if it’s just you ’n me with hand guns.”

  “Been practicin’, have you?”

  “I have.”

  “Around the farm?”

  His face reddened again.

  “Ain’t no shame in that,” I said. “Every great shootist I ever met started on a farm or ranch, shootin’ fruit, vegetables, cans, and varmints.”

  He nodded.

  I said, “You hittin’ most of them apples and squashes you set on your fence post?”

  “I hit all of ’em,” he said, proudly. “Ever’ time. And from different range.”

  “You pretty fast?” I said.

  He smiled. “You can try me, you want.”

  “How much they payin’ you here?”

  “That’s none a’ your business.”

  “Reason I ask, if you’re really good with a hand gun, I might have a use for you.”

  He seemed surprised. “You’d take me with you?”

  “Far as Springfield, anyway.”

  He looked around. Then, in a quiet voice he said, “How much you payin’?”

  “You got a good horse?”

  “Damn good horse.”

  “Any good with a rifle?”

  He paused. “Not like you.”

  “You own one?”

  He looked down. “Naw.”

  I nodded. “That’s okay. Ten dollars.”

  “Ten dollars for two days work?”

  “That’s right. Ever been to Springfield?”

  “Naw.”

  “It’s a big town. Lotta bars. Bouncin’ pays a dollar a day, free room and board. Wanna make more, try minin’ in Colorado, or pannin’ gold out west.”

  “What about hired gun work?”

  “No offense, son, but you’re not ready.”

  “You ain’t seen me slap leather.”

  “True. But we been standin’ here almost five minutes and you still ain’t seen the derringer in my left hand.”

  He looked at the gun, but didn’t twitch ’til I cocked it. A light bead of sweat formed on his upper lip.

  “What kind of pansy-assed shootist carries a derringer?” he said.

  “A live one.”

  He swallowed before speakin’. But he did speak.

  “You know the job you was talkin’ about just now?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  I nodded. “Good choice. What’s your name, son?”