King Blood

'No, no, please…' Kay's eyes filled with tears again. 'He not be hurt bad, please. Not dead!'

'We'll hope not. I figure on findin' out damn quick.'

He nodded, turned and strode toward his grazing horse. Kay started after him, but he waved her back firmly.

'You stay here an 'wait for me, ol' squaw. Don't want you mixed up in this any more than you already are.'

'But maybe so you need me. Maybe so I tell Critch I cut bellyband, he not be mad at you.'

'Maybe so nobody tells him nothin'.' Arlie said flatly. 'Maybe so I don't even talk to him.'

Kay stared at him, her head cocked puzzledly. 'How come this? We don't apologize, say plenty God damn sorry, ol' Critch he tell ol' Uncle 'n' ol' Grandfather. You 'n' me be in plenty much trouble!'

'You're gonna be in plenty anyways,' Arlie advised her. 'You an' Joshie both. Paw an' Tepaha sees them scratches on your faces an' find out you been fightin', you're really gonna catch hell!'

'Don't mind that. Not too bad that trouble. But when ol' Critch tells 'bout – '

'Suppose he don't tell about it? Suppose he keeps quiet, an' makes Joshie keep quiet?'

'S'pose?' Kay frowned worriedly. 'S'pose dog shit watermelon? Makes no God damn sense.'

Arlie said that maybe it didn't make any sense to a squaw who was all ass and no brains. But it would make plenty to a smart son-of-a-bitch like his brother.

'And don't you never think he ain't smart,' he added, as he straddled his horse.

'He's not's smart as you!' Kay declared loyally. 'My ol' Arlie, he smartest son-of-a-bitch in world!

Arlie shrugged off the compliment, wheeling his horse around. 'Don't make up your mind too fast,' he told her. 'Wait and see what I do if Critch happens to be dead.' *c*

The four men had ridden the morning east-bound train through King's Junction, debarking from it at the third whistle-stop beyond. From there, via handcar, they had ridden westward again, finally stopping at the point where they were now.

One of the men was a section-crew foreman, another a division superintendent of the railroad. The other two were United States Marshal Harry Thompson and his nephew, Deputy Marshal James Sherman Thompson.

The four lifted the handcar from the track, and set it down on the right-of-way. Then they walked down the embankment to a point marked by a heavy staked-down tarpaulin.

'Hope I didn't mess up nothin' by doin' that,' the foreman said anxiously, nodding towards the canvas. 'But one foot was startin' to poke out, an' I figured – '

'You did the right thing,' Marshal Thompson assured him. 'Now, you say you made the discovery about seven last night?'

'Yessir. After the men had put in their hours. I was back-checkin' on a day's work… I always do that, Mr. Hardcastle' – a glance at the division superintendent, who nodded approvingly. 'I was coasting along slow, and there was still a little sunlight, so off in the weeds there I get the glint of something bright. O' course, I figure that one of my damn fool hands has left a tool behind… I always watch out for tools, Mr. Hardcastle. I know tools are expensive, an' – '

'So is time,' Marshal Thompson said drily. 'Suppose we use no more of it than we have to. Satisfactory?'

'Well – well, sure. I mean, yes, sir.'

'Thank you. I gather then that you were alone when you discovered the body, correct? And you have told no one else about it. Very well, then. That leaves us but one thing to do, at the moment. A rather unpleasant chore. Gentlemen, if you will don your gloves and give me your assistance…'

…The body was rolled into the tarpaulin, placed on the handcar and transported back to the starting point of the morning's expedition. They loaded it into the coffin that was waiting for it on the evening's west-bound train, and the marshal and his deputy nephew took the same train back to El Reno.

Deputy Thompson had a number of questions and suggestions for Marshal Thompson as they rode through the night. Marshal Thompson, after a considerable silence, had a single suggestion for Deputy Thompson: to shut up or leave their stateroom.

The young man promptly stood up. 'Sorry,' he said stiffly. 'I didn't mean to offend you.'

'Oh, sit down, sit down,' sighed his uncle. 'Don't be so quick to get on your high horse, Jim. If you want to continue in public office, you'll have to remember two things. Touchiness is a luxury you can never afford; that's number one. Secondly, you'll never make yourself popular by telling a man something he already knows, and asking him questions he can't answer.'

'I didn't realize I was doing that. Not that I look upon myself as a participant in a popularity contest.'

'But you are, Jim. You most certainly are. I'm both judge and audience in the contest, and the moment you cease to be popular with me, I declare you disqualified.' He gave his nephew a lengthy look, his dark eyes gradually becoming thoughtful. 'I'm joking, of course, Jim; no one, relative or not, has to cozy up to me to hold his job. In fact, it would be the quickest way he could lose it. But I do think it's time you were moving on to something else – something better.'

Deputy Thompson gave his uncle a steady stare; at last, turned it toward the window and the dark panorama beyond. There was the clangor of bells, a blur of red and white lights as they rattled through a crossing. The engine whistled eerily, fearfully, as its headlights swept the prairie and found nothing but emptiness.

'I'm thirty years old, Uncle Harry. I don't have much time left to start carving out a career…'

'How true,' his uncle said solemnly. 'In another year or so you'll be tripping over your long gray beard. Wait, now, wait!' he laughed, holding up a hand. 'I mean to see you started on a career, Jim. I mean to do just that. So if you'll stop getting huffy, and listen…'

The Territory had been first thrown open to settlement in 1889, he pointed out. (The Territory, as opposed to Old Oklahoma, on the east, which had been moved into some fifty years before by the Five Civilized tribes.) But Deputy James Sherman Thompson had actually seen very little of it, his movements being limited by his job, and that little had become so heavily populated – relatively speaking – as to limit opportunities for a bright young man. Such a man could do well to hie himself elsewhere, to the Big Pasture country, or the Unassigned lands, or one of the other areas recently opened to settlement or soon to be opened.

'Now, the spot I have in mind for you, Jim, is down in the Kiowa-Caddo-Comanche country. I can line up a number of people who will help you there, and with your experience as a deputy marshal and your ability to make friends – How the hell do you make them anyway, Jim? I'm always amazed that anyone as stiff-necked and opinionated as you could have even one friend.'

Deputy Thompson denied that he was either stiff-necked or opinionated. He did, however, have certain beliefs, and he could not, in all honesty, refrain from letting them be known to those who – having lacked his advantages – might hold contrary and erroneous views.

'As for making friends, I suppose it's simply a matter of liking people. I've met very few men that I couldn't find some good in; something that I could honestly like. I like them well enough to remember their names, and the names of their wives and children, and – '

'And,' the marshal nodded his understanding, 'that's all you need to do, to shine the light of recognition upon a world of strangers. I doubt that there lives a man with soul so dead that he doesn't pray for deliverance from anonymity.'

His nephew's blue eyes lighted up with appreciation; he threw back his head and laughed, a laugh so utterly ingenuous and wholesomely good-humored as to warm the marshal's pragmatist's heart.

'Jim,' he said. 'Dammit all, Jim…!'

'Yes, sir?'

Marshal Thompson hesitated, started to speak, shook his head. After a time, he said, 'Getting back to the subject of the Kiowa-Caddo-Comanche country, I think the sooner you're down there the better. My friends will give you all possible assistance. With their help, your peace officer's experience and your talent for making friends, you should be a shoo-in for sheriff when the county government is set up.'

'Sheriff?' His nephew was disappointed. 'I'm qualified to practise law. Why not county attorney?'

'Two reasons. You're qualified to practise law, but you've never practised. And an experienced and popular young lawyer, Al Jennings, wants the job.'

'Oh,' said the deputy flatly. 'Oh.'

'You don't like Al? Too many freckles for you?'