Rafe

Looked like that ought to do it, he thought, settling back. You have to take a firm hand with these conniving Yankees, let them know where you stood, or they would steal the fillings right out of your teeth. There was just one thing they couldn't face up to—being made to look a fool. No matter how big they got if you could get the laugh on them—or make 'em think you were going to—you could jump them through hoops and make them turn handflips. They were as leery of ridicule as a bunch of cow critters on the move was to lightning.

This was Rafe's cherished conviction, but as the half hours dragged by and the sun began climbing ever nearer to high noon it became apparent that, in Bunny, he'd met a different breed of cat. Scowling, furious, he grabbed up the stool and commenced hammering the wall with it, punctuating this clamor with some pretty inflamable language.

When ten minutes of this brought nothing but a flock of frogs into his throat he decided if he was ever to get out of here it was time he was putting his crazy threat into action. He jumped out of bed, flung down the stool and, wrapped in a sheet, strode seething to the door. Yanking it furiously open he stopped with dropped jaw.

Bunny sat in a rocker less than three yards away with a double barreled shotgun pointed square at him. She wasn't smiling, either. She looked as though for half a cent she would just as lief pull both triggers.

Rafe clutched his sheet, swallowing uncomfortably. With that look in her eye it didn't seem the most propitious moment to assume any further hostilities. By way of temporizing he said, 'Maybe I better habla with your father.' He waited and when she still didn't speak, he said with a feeble attempt at a smile, 'Might be a good idee if you called him.'

'You've got plenty of wind. Try calling him yourself.'

There was something about the way she said it that told him plain he'd be wasting his breath. He took a careful squint, had to grudgingly admit she was a heap better looking than a Yank had any right to be. Slim as a willow—busty, too. Pansy eyes that could turn dark and deep as mountain pools. You'd never think a girl young and lovely as her could be so durn feisty!

He shifted weight with considerable care. 'I wisht you'd put that scattergun down, ma'am—'

'If it makes you nervous, close the door.'

'How'm I goin' to talk with the door closed?'

She kept the gun where it was. It was plain he wasn't getting anywhere at all. Perhaps it was time to try a little sugar coating. 'Seems a shame, daggone it, a nice young filly purty as you be—'

'I've been flattered by experts,' Bunny said, with her lip curled. 'Why don't you get back in bed and behave yourself? Daddy knows what's best. If you really want to be up and about, the quickest way would be to do as you're told. We'd be remiss in our duty—'

'Duty!' Rafe bleated.

'After all, a county coroner, you know, has certain obliga—'

'Coroner!' Rafe shouted. 'Do I look dead!'

She studied him a while, red lips trembling, almost breaking into a smile. 'If you could only see yourself. I'll tell you the truth. You look mad as a hatter. There! You see? Daddy's right. You look positively rabid; if he was to turn you loose we'd never hear the end of it.'

Rafe did look pretty wild for a fact.

Trouble was that stage-robbing bunch he'd fell in with back yonder had passed away the time with some pretty weird tales of what could happen to caught Confederates who got off the straight and narrow or come broadside to the notions of one of these blue-nosed little Caesars.

Bunny pushed a dangle of hair off her cheek. 'I'm afraid there's no help for it. You'll have to be kept under observation for at least a couple of weeks—that's the law. I suppose,' she said brightly, 'we could get a few of the preliminaries disposed of.'

'Pre-preliminaries?'

'All those terrible forms. You've no idea the number of questions—town, county, the Territory and federal government—it takes most of Daddy's time just getting the papers filed. If you'll get back in bed, I can fix you some lunch. My arms are getting awfully cramped.'

Rafe, so tangled in imaginings by now he hardly knew whether to cuss or shriek, someway managed to get himself turned around and, still clutched to the sheet, like a drowning man stumbled back to the bed and let himself down.

One thing got through the whirl of his thoughts, that lunch she had mentioned. If he could hang on for that, and give the impression he was so wore out she'd put that damned artillery up, he might—just might—get loose from this yet. He wriggled out of the sheet and, hearing her step, lay back with a groan, dragging it up over him clear to the chin.

She did not immediately appear, however. When she did come in she had a pad and a pencil; the sawed-off Greener had been left behind. She sat down near the door and said, pencil poised, 'Your full name, please.'

'Rafe—Rafe Bender.' He'd been minded to give her some made-up monicker and was a little surprised to find he'd stuck to the truth. She looked a little strange, too. Her mouth was partway open. But she wrote it down, then said crisply, 'Date and place of birth, father's name, maiden name of mother, names and ages of brothers and sisters.'

When she'd put that all down she was silent for a spell, apparently considering, the cut of her stare seeming queerer than ever. At last with a sigh she passed on to army experience, rank and outfit, a couple of dozen other things, finally asking the date of his discharge. If she missed anything Rafe wasn't aware of it.

He felt about as public as a zebra in a fish pond. Despite his pretentions to complete cooperation and the need he'd seen to butter her up, resentment made him testily say, 'If your old man during the war was such a comfort to Grant how come the people round here ain't beat no path to his door?'

'Please?'

He said, 'How come all the quiet? Don't he see no one here?'

'Oh, he does most of his work at the office. As County Health Officer and Coroner he has a place at the