Name On The Bullet - Edge Series 6 (14 page)

She scowled and started to accuse: ‘You’re some kind of a . . . ‘ After her voice trailed away there were just the sounds of the moving horses and an occasional bird call within the timber for the longest period without talk since they had started out from the clearing. For his part, Edge was content with the silence but he sensed this was not so with the woman. He recognised when she was about to re-open the exchange and spoke first: ‘And another thing I’ve learned about women of all kinds, lady?’

‘What’s that?’ It was clear from her sharp tone that she expected to be put down again.

‘When they ain’t being nosy, the next thing they like to do is yak.’

‘Okay, okay!’ She had a pout in her voice. ‘I won’t speak again unless I’m spoken to.

‘I’d really hate to think I got on the wrong side of you, mister!’ She delved into her pocket for the makings. ‘I couldn’t bear to have you think badly of me!’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘You know, you’re not an easy man to like, Edge!’

‘If that’s the way things are . . . ‘ He shrugged. ‘And yet me: I don’t figure I could ever have a hard feeling for you.’

CHAPTER • 8

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SOME TIME after the start of another spell of silence they heard a wagon heading
slowly toward them along the trail from the southeast. And Edge signalled they should move into the timber where they halted far enough away to be out of sight but were able to catch a brief glimpse the Concord hauled by a four horse team as it made unhurried progress in the direction of Brogan Falls. The stage, Edge recalled, that Arnie O’Brian had said last night he was expecting today.

While they waited for the rattling and creaking of the lumbering rig to diminish into the distance, Edge asked the woman if she was hungry. She said not so much that she couldn’t wait until supper time so they moved on at the same pace as before: easy enough not to over exert their mounts. And throughout the afternoon Hannah gradually became more comfortable with the absence of talk. She spoke just the once, when she needed to go into the timber to answer a call of nature. And looked faintly surprised when she re-emerged on to the trail to see him still waiting where she last saw him, now smoking a fresh rolled cigarette.

Just as the final light of afternoon was about to fade in the wake of the already set sun they spotted a lamp-lit window ahead and soon smelled wood smoke and next saw where it rose lazily from the fieldstone chimney at the side of a single story clapboard building.

‘It’s the stage line way station that’s about halfway between Brogan Falls and Pine River,’ she explained. ‘I guess we could spend the night there if you want?’

‘I could.’

‘Uh?’ She was puzzled by the curt response.

‘Because I know for sure that I’m not wanted for murder,’ he reminded her. She shrugged and challenged: ‘Okay, so it’s up to you?’

‘I reckon not, lady.’ He reined in his gelding, dismounted, signalled for her to do likewise and added when she continued to direct a quizzical look at him: ‘We’ll circle in the trees on foot.’

‘We will?’ It was not an objection.

‘Because of the way it’s getting to be so dark, one of us could ride into a low branch and I figure we’ve got headaches enough already, uh?’

‘You know, Edge I‘m much obliged to you for – ’ she started earnestly.

‘Advice costs nothing to give,’ he cut in.

‘I mean thank you for not wanting to stay the night in the way station and leaving me out here on my own.’ She peered around and shuddered as she said with feeling: ‘I like the country at night a whole lot less than I do in the daylight.’

‘I guess all of us are afraid of something.’ He started off, leading the gelding by the bridle and did not need to check that she was close behind him. So he was able to concentrate on finding a clear path through the trees, moving in a wide half circle around the way station on the far side of the trail from it. Occasionally he glimpsed the yellow splash of lamplight cast from the building’s front window. And once a horse snorted in an out-building at the rear, but neither of their travel-wearied geldings responded with more than a pricking of ears.

The pungent wood smoke from the chimney was not mixed with any aromas of cooking food, which was a relief to Edge who was feeling hungrier by the moment. Maybe a quarter mile beyond the stage stop he led the way back out on to the trail and they remounted. Then rode in slow silence for perhaps a half mile until Hannah said:

‘I can’t believe you’ve got even one, Edge.’

‘One what?’ He was willing to talk now: hoping to keep his mind off the emptiness of his growling belly until they were far enough away from the way station to make camp and eat supper.

‘Fear – like I’ve got of the countryside in the pitch black, for instance. You said – ‘

‘I’ve got a few, lady,’ he cut in tautly.

‘That really surprises me. Unless you mean the kind that everybody has. Like dying, I guess?’

‘I’m not afraid of dying.’

‘You’re not?’

‘It’s something we all get to do sooner or later: and it ain’t no use spending whatever life you’ve got being frightened of what’s to come for certain. What scares me is the way I’m going to die. That it’ll be from some kind of disease that goes on for a long time: not quick and clean, like from a bullet in the heart.’

‘Yeah, I can understand that. I guess we’d all like to be able to choose the way we go: fast and without any pain. But that ain’t like being scared of the dark. Or spiders or snakes. Or of somebody who has good reason to hate you. Stuff like that?’

‘No, I guess it’s not.’

‘And you ain’t got none of those kind of fears?’

‘My business.’

‘Because admitting you’re scared is a sign of weakness, I bet?’

‘No, lady. Being afraid of anything is only a weakness if the people who hate you know what scares you. If you keep your fears to yourself, you’ve got less chance of somebody else getting to you through what frightens you.’

She was pensive again, then: ‘You can be something of a deep thinker, can’t you, Edge?’

‘I do a whole lot of thinking, lady. Which comes of liking my own company so much. Most of the time I wouldn’t say it was deep. Mostly it’s about stuff like where my next meal is coming from. And right now I think it’ll be from a pot on a fire I plan to light not too far from here.’

He reined in his gelding, swung out of the saddle and headed off the trail again. Hannah followed him as they moved into the timber where he soon halted and gave a grunt of satisfaction. They were in a small hollow encircled on the rim by pine trees that screened it from the trail.

Flames, the crackle of burning wood, the smell of smoke and cooking food and their talk could not he entirely clandestine here. But the chance of anyone else being on this remote stretch of trail during the night was slim. And when they continued toward Pine River Junction in the morning, the sign that they had camped in the hollow would not be readily visible to anyone tracking them. She followed his example in settling her horse for the night, then complied willingly with his request to prepare supper while he gathered kindling and lit a fire.

‘You and Vic Munro?’ she started pensively when they had finished making the camp and the meal: waited only for the coffee to heat and the food to cook. ‘You and him - it seems to me you’re . . . ‘ She shrugged. ‘That you were two of a kind is what I mean, guess.’

They were seated on adjacent sides of the fire, not opposite: relishing the warmth of the flames, the smell of coffee and the frying pork. And each elected at the same time to bring out the makings and begin to roll cigarettes.

‘I didn’t know the feller for long enough to have an opinion about that, lady. But one thing I’m certain of: if I ever did anything stupid enough to draw twenty years in jail, I’d make damn sure I never got caught for it.

‘And I bet you have? Done things that would have got you sent to prison for a long time if you were caught, I mean?’

‘That’s being nosy, lady.’

‘Sorry. But I wasn’t meaning you were a bank robber or anything - like Vic was. I was meaning in the way you are: the way you don’t let too much get you down. If you ever get riled up – and I guess everybody does from time to time – you try a whole lot of ways to calm down before you blow your top. But sometimes you – ‘

‘Yeah, it seems to me that a man who gets mad too fast is more than likely to act like an idiot. Before he takes the time to figure out exactly what he’s doing.’

‘Yeah, right . . . And you saw how Vic was when you and them others in the posse pulled their guns on us? Right after we’d been . . . Well, it was sure as hell the last thing Vic expected to happen. Especially when he didn’t have any idea what you were all talking about on account of he was innocent. A lot of men – not the kind like you and Vic are – would have done something hasty and stupid like you said.’

‘But it didn’t do him any good at the end of the day, the way things turned out.’

She swallowed hard, struggling to keep her emotions in check. ‘It sure didn’t. He got shot like some wild animal caught in a lousy trap, the poor bastard.’

The coffee began to bubble over the rim of the pot and Edge reached for it, poured some for himself and gestured for her to hold out her mug then filled it for her. He held off taking a sip of the scalding liquid and used it to warm his hands for awhile then said to the frowning woman: ‘I guess there are bound to be times when everyone of us is going to be in a tight corner where there’s no way we can control what’s happening. And then it’s just a matter of luck whether somebody up there likes us or decides it’s our name on the bullet.’

He tilted his head to look up though the tree canopy toward the partially obscured moon and star lit sky.

‘Nobody ought to die the way Vic did. He never had a chance.’

‘I can’t give you an argument about that, lady.’

‘But will you give me some of your time?’

‘Uh?’

‘Look for his killer after your business at Pine River is finished with?’

‘Let’s eat.’ He signalled she should ladle some food on to the plate he held out. She did so with a sullen frown on her high cheek boned face that fleetingly looked almost beautiful in the flicker of the firelight. But as soon as she began to eat, the pleasure of satisfying her hunger soon displaced her dark mood. And as she gave herself up to the sensation of fulfilling a basic need the moment was lost.

‘It’s good,’ she announced after swallowing several mouthfuls.

‘I can’t ever remember eating bad food at a time when I was real hungry,’ he replied.

‘You cook good enough for me.’

When he rattled his spoon down on the plate, she offered: ‘There’s enough for seconds, if you’ve got the room?’

‘Later, maybe. I’m impressed.’

‘You said you were real hungry. It wasn’t that good.’

‘Impressed about you getting to be so talkative again with a reason. You sure were taken with that feller who got you loose from the cathouse?’

She pulled a face, looked hard at him and grunted: then decided it was just the natural way he asked the question and that he had not tried to rile her on account of how she made a living. ‘As a matter of fact, the Junction Hotel ain’t such a bad place to work for a woman like me. If it turns out I want to stick around that town and Rose Gore will have me back, I’ll start turning tricks again there without too much regret.’

Edge refilled his cup with coffee.

‘Maybe hope that some day another guy like Vic will drop by and take a shine to me and I’ll leave again. But, yeah, I guess I liked Vic well enough. He didn’t treat me like a high born lady or nothing like that. But he was nice enough to me so I liked him well enough not to like the way the poor sonofabitch was killed. Even if I couldn’t bring myself to spill too many tears over him. No tears come to think of it.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’ Edge re-lit the half-smoked cigarette he had pinched out before he started to eat.

‘The same as there ain’t nothing wrong with me asking you to look for the killer, I reckon. Even if I can’t offer you no kind of payment except what you don’t want. But you know there’s likely going to be some money waiting for you back at Brogan Falls if you do what Julia McGowan and me want you to.’

‘Okay.’

‘You mean you’ll – ‘

‘I mean, okay, you’ve said your piece and I know what’s on offer.’ He finished the coffee in one swallow, set down his mug, took a final lungful of cigarette smoke and tossed the butt into the fire. ‘Something?’

‘What?’

‘Was Munro telling the truth when he said you and him saw a couple who looked pretty much like you and him heading this way down the turnpike?’

‘Vic sure did tell it like it happened, Edge,’ she blurted. ‘A guy who was built much the same as Vic and a woman who was younger and skinnier than me but had the same colour hair.’

Her enthusiasm rose as she pressed on: ‘

And she was a damn sight prettier. We

heard them from a long way off, coming down the turnpike at a full gallop. The guy yelled at us to get the hell out of the way, which is what we did. That wasn’t no lie, mister.’

‘So you’d know them if you saw them again?’

She nodded adamantly, then sighed and shook her head. ‘Look, I ain’t going to tell you nothing that ain’t the absolute truth, Edge. I’d know the dame for certain: saw enough of her face to see she was real pretty. Twenty five or so with big blue eyes: and the kind of fine shaped white teeth I’d give my right arm for.’ She shrugged, grimaced and sighed. ‘But the guy with her, the way he had his hat pulled down low and how his coat collar was turned up so high . . . So no, I can’t say I’d know him again even if he bumped into me on the sidewalk.’