'Why, sir, you know. Heh-heh, we had us quite a celebration when this all set itself up last spring. The coffins. The waterproof coffins that fellow done paid us to sell here to them bush Negroes.'
The warden recollected. Yes, indeed, last spring, the big news was the coming of the waterproof coffin company to Pascagoula, and the Pascagoula County people were all happy, because it meant jobs, and it also meant many greased palms. One of the distribution points for the new product was set to be Thebes, and on account of that plan, the warden had taken an emolument of five hundred dollars, that is, five dollars per coffin, for there would be one hundred of them, as had the sheriff, because it was deemed proper and appropriate that on such issues, important personages in the county should get their beaks wet, to make certain that no unforeseen legal obstructions came in the way of men desiring to do business. The sheriff had spent his money on whores and bourbon in New Orleans, and the warden had shipped it to his broker in New York.
'Hmmm,' said the warden.
Did he see conspiracy in all this? That would have to be a mighty conspiracy, for the coffin transaction was all set in place months before that Arkansas lawyer showed up, initiating this whole mad gyre of unease in his little empire. Who could engineer such a thing? No one alive, the warden knew.
'Sheriff,' said the warden, 'tell me how they came and who or what came with them?' 'Well, sir,' said Leon, 'they just came. They's here. I just got a call in from one of my boys. He seen '.'
'Was there a fellow with them? Or a bill of lading? Or anything to make it official, as we would deem something official?'
'No, sir. Evidently, they's barged up in the night, and the boat what towed ' got an early start back. The fog lifts, the sun rises, and there they be, a cargo of wooden boxes heaped atop a barge, which is moored by itself in the river.'
'Leon, were you classically educated?'
'Sir?'
'No, of course not. Does the story of Troy mean anything to you? Or the story of a wooden horse in which men hid, and in the night broke out to raze a walled city otherwise impenetrable?'
'Hmmm. Might have heard something like that sometime, someplace.'
'Leon, you set up a guard right now on that barge, and you keep watching it. I will meantime send my men downriver in the prison launch, they will board, and they will examine these coffins and see if any clever Ulysses means to use them to engineer our destruction. And if that's so, we'll do what Priam never thought to do, and that's burn them on the spot.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then, Leon, you comb the river bank for tracks of men coming from that boat. Use those dogs you're so proud of. Find me my Itha cans, do you hear, Leon?'
'Yes, sir. Lord, yes, I do!' leon, of course, did what he was told, well and thoroughly and earnestly, and by the time Bigboy arrived in the prison launch he could report that no tracks had been found along the bank for miles in either direction, no dog smelled a trace of stranger, and that not a man or a thing had left the barge, which simply drifted listlessly against the current.
Bigboy, pulled from his third straight day from the surprisingly tough old man Fish, navigated the prison launch close enough and tied to it.
He boarded it, he and three guards with weapons and a work detail of three large Negroes, who were happy to be spared the fields that day.
They set to work. The coffins were unstacked one by one, opened, and examined. It was a long afternoon's work, but of course it yielded nothing: no coffin had a human cargo, and all coffins were opened, turned, poked. Randomly, three were selected for destruction, and in pieces revealed themselves merely to be… wood, slathered with some sort of gummy water-resistant pine tar, held together by stout, well driven nails, as the shipwrights of Pascagoula were among the best carpenters in the world.
Bigboy, having done his duty well, returned at the end of day and made his report.
'Sir,' he said, 'if a pale horse is coming, it doesn't have a thing to do with them wooden boxes, I guarantee you.'
The warden duly noted this.
'I am sure you are right, Sergeant Bigboy.' cowboys are having a tea party. It's Sally's idea.
They sit out in the meadow on lawn chairs, all dressed for their fight, with legs daintily crossed, while the pretty young lady scurries before them, filling their teacups and offering scones and muffins, with dabs of jelly. To Sally it's a kind of farewell party, for the men will be leaving ever so soon, and she's enjoyed this all so much. She's moving about, dressed all old-timey, in a big old white cotton dress, fluffy with petticoats beneath, its frilly sleeves covering her pale arms, its full hem fluffing at the ground, so that she looks like some kind of schoolmarm in a cowboy picture.
It's been wonderful seeing Grandpap so happy again, among his friends, laughing and joshing with these colorful old fellows. Everybody is so nice, even if she suspicions that the one with the prominent nose and personality, Charlie, occasionally halts outside her room and tries to peek through the cracks of the door to catch a glimpse of young Sally in her boudoir. She can hear his dry, crackly, old breath. But he hasn't seen anything, she knows, because she has been very careful.
The men are wrapped in old-timey coats called dusters that give them the appearance of undertakers. These are full length canvas coats that reach to their boot heels. Under the dusters she can see something that might surprise many young women of her age but doesn't throw the granddaughter of Ed Mcgriffin a bit: that is, a lot of guns. A lot of revolvers in belts heavy with ammunition crossed this way and that across their bodies. The men clank a little when they walk, like old knights or something; they have a metallic seriousness to them, a density. Some wear chaps that exaggerate the flow of their legs. They wear their hats low over their eyes and don't speak much as they sit and wait, their gear?rifles mostly, though each has a pouch that appears jammed with something heavy?off to one side.
Only Grandpap doesn't wear a duster. He's too formal, still. He wears a three-piece suit and a black tie, knotted tight, and a high white Stetson, a fifteen-gallon hat, the boys joke. He's particularly twinkly today, and merry, in a way he hasn't been in ages. He's happy.
They're all happy.
What is about to happen?
Sally isn't sure, and some of the old cowboys aren't either. They're to leave today, and somehow, some magical way, they're to get where they're going by tonight, unwrinkled and unchallenged by the journey.
Sally has in her mind some idea of a bus, but she knows that can't be right, somehow. But Grandpap tells her it will be okay.
She pours more tea. The boys enjoy it. She offers Charlie a scone and he takes it, with a wink. Audie is quiet, seemingly in a dream land.
Bill, with that granite face, is the same as always: imperturbable, silent, polite. Mr. Kaye and Mr. O'Brian are still squabbling, and take efforts to sit in directions so they are not facing each other.
Mr. O'Brian, who fancies himself a man of high social standing, nibbles his biscuit discreetly, careful not to spill a crumb. Mr. Kaye, on the other hand, wolfs his down with gusto.
Where is Mr. Earl? Well, he's still on the phone. He got a call from someone called 'Sam' just a minute ago, when everybody was heading out to the meadow for the tea party, and he's still on the phone, listening carefully, taking down information, nodding intently, as if some last bit of crucial information has arrived.
She heard him say, 'I've heard of Fort Dietrich.'
Finally, he too comes out. He's a tall, hard man, without much beauty to him, but he has that command quality that even Sally can feel, and he seems dark today, pressed by concern. He's not much for the tea and crumpets, and his duster is stiff because it carries so much ammunition in its pockets. She can see guns on his belt.
There's just a moment here that becomes weirdly still. The seven cowboys sit on lawn chairs in the bright sun, under a cloudless sky.
Then Sally hears it.
Engines.
Engines, low and from the south, where there are no roads. She is baffled, but none of the others are.
'Right on time,' says Earl.
