Cora. No one in the office had ever seen Miss Cora, though it was known that the Colonel kept her in an apartment on Fifth Avenue. Once in a while a bill for flowers or jewelry would get misdirected and arrive in the office, a circumstance that invariably threw the Colonel into a temper.
'Why, that idiot, that's for Cora,' he would say, snatching the bill and stuffing it into his pocket. The Colonel's wife, another mystery figure, was known in the office as Miss Eleanora. She was thought to be prim, and her primness, in the minds of the office workers, explained Miss Cora and the apartment on Fifth Avenue, and the jewelry, and the flowers.
Now and then, seeing one of the misdirected bills--they were always from establishments of high repute-- Brookshire would dream a little.
He would imagine that he was as rich as the Colonel and able to keep a nice girlie, one whose standards in the matter of sweat were not as high as Katie's. He thought of this girlie as his Miss Belle, for he liked the name Belle. Of course, it was just a little dream. Brookshire knew that he would never be as rich as the Colonel, and even if he did acquire a little more money he might never find a girl named Belle who would care to live in an apartment on Fifth Avenue and receive flowers and jewelry, from him. It was just his little dream.
The point, though, that startled Captain Call was that Colonel Terry expected Brookshire and his ledger books to accompany Call on his chase. The Captain had been promised his expenses, as well as a substantial bonus, in the event of rapid success. An expedition, even a small one, was bound to incur expenses, so naturally, Brookshire was expected to keep a full accounting. Mostly, when trouble had arisen in the past, it had involved dirty work on the part of Colonel Terry's rivals in Chicago or Cleveland or Buffalo--someplace civilized.
In those cases, Brookshire's job was to rein in the Pinkertons. As a rule, Pinkertons were inclined to be casual about money, and the Colonel wasn't.
Employing Captain Call to catch Joey Garza was not as simple as hiring the Pinkertons to beat up a switch buster. There was only one point of similarity, which was that in both cases, the Colonel's money was being spent. And when the Colonel's money was being spent, he expected a full accounting.
'Why? Doesn't the man trust me?' Call asked, when Brookshire revealed that he was expected to accompany him.
'The Colonel don't trust God,' Brookshire said. The comment just slipped out.
Colonel Terry's unwillingness to trust was not lost on any of his employees. He was constantly popping into the office to inspect their work.
When Brookshire turned in his ledgers at the end of each week, the Colonel sat right down, took out his big magnifying glass, and went over the pages line by line.
Call was inspecting a stout gray gelding that he thought might do, when Brookshire revealed that he was expected to come along. Call had just lifted the horse's foreleg, in order to inspect the hoof. He was going into rocky country and the animals would need good feet. The notion that Brookshire, a man who couldn't keep his hat on his head, was planning to go with him into Mexico had never occurred to Call. Bol, shaky as he was, would be less of an impediment. At least Bol was used to hard living, and he was Mexican.
Brookshire seemed to be a decent man, but decency was one thing, experience entirely another.
Call had no idea whether the man could even ride.
'But Mr. Brookshire,' he said. 'You're not equipped, and this isn't your line of work. I know you're a family man, and there is some danger involved. To be blunt, I'd rather not take you.' 'I'd rather not go, neither, but what choice do I have?' Brookshire asked. 'I'm a salaried man. I work for Colonel Terry. He expects me to keep the daily accounts--besides that, he expects reports.' 'Reports?' Call asked.
'Yes, I'm expected to report,' Brookshire said. It was clear from the Captain's stern look that he was not pleased with what he was hearing.
'If you capture the young Mexican, or kill him, the Colonel's going to want to know right away,' Brookshire added. 'He's a stickler for promptness.' 'I expect he's a stickler for results, too,' Call said. 'What if I don't catch the young bandit promptly enough? What if he manages to rob the army a few more times?' Brookshire felt uncomfortable with the question. He had not been the only one in the office to voice doubts about the Captain's age. Of course, everyone admired Call's reputation. He had undoubtedly been the best there was, once; in his prime, Joey Garza probably wouldn't have lasted a week, with the Captain in pursuit.
But now the man was old, and looked it. If Colonel Terry could see him, he would probably have taken back his offer, or at least reduced the stipend.
'I hope I'm not getting deaf,' Call said. 'I didn't hear you answer. What happens if I ain't quick enough?' 'He'll fire you in a minute,' Brookshire said.
'I'm glad you admit it,' Call said.
'I'll get Joey Garza for you, but I can't say when I'll get him, and God couldn't either.
Mexico is a big place--so is West Texas. We might not be handy to a telegraph office the day the Colonel decides to fire me.' 'Captain, just catch the bandit,' Brookshire said. 'Don't worry about Colonel Terry, too much. Worrying about the Colonel is my job.' 'Couldn't you get another job?' Call asked. 'I don't think you enjoy this one too much. This Colonel of yours sounds like he's rough on the help.' Brookshire didn't deny it, but refrained from confirming it. He had learned to be cautious in remarking about the Colonel. Remarks uttered hundreds of miles from the office nonetheless had a way of reaching the man's ear.
'I like a loyal man,' Call said, seeing that Brookshire had nothing to say. 'I think you are a loyal man. But being loyal don't mean you're suited for this work. It's unreasonable of your boss to expect you to do work you're not trained for.' 'He is unreasonable, though,' Brookshire said, before he could check his tongue. 'He expects me to go, and I better go. I admit I ain't qualified. I'm about as unqualified a man as you could find anywhere. But here I am.
I'm expected to go.' 'Send the Colonel a telegram,' Call suggested. 'Tell him you've caught the Texas itch. Tell him the doctor says you're not to ride for six weeks.' 'What's the Texas itch?' Brookshire asked, wondering if he would catch it. 'How do you get it?' 'You just get it,' Call said, amused. The man was so green it was almost painful to see. Call couldn't help thinking what a time his old friend Gus McCrae would have had with Mr. Brookshire.
Gus would have joshed him within an inch of his life.
No doubt he could have thought up diseases far more frightening than the Texas itch.
