“You ain’t got all attached to that she stuff, have you?”
“You ain’t touchin her, Oath. Let me just send her on home.”
“Fine.”
“What about Billy?”
“What about him?”
“He comin with us?”
“Sure, he’s comin. Gonna try to straighten that balky bitch a his out first.”
“And if she don’t straighten?”
“Well, she knows, and he knows that won’t stand.”
“You reckon that scrub’ll kill his wife? Just like that?”
“I think you might be surprised.”
“I’m still gonna be the one to deal with him for goin rough on ol ’Bart. You ain’t forgot that, have you?”
“Jesus Christ, kinky, cut the boy some—”
“
“No, but Billy done all right today. Ain’t no scissorbill. Boy’s got some sand. Kilt both those men up there like it weren’t nothin, shined, and he’s payin a visit to their wives as we speak.”
“And I give a solitary shit why?”
“Look, we’ll need his help gettin out a town, loadin up everthin at the pass. Drivin the burros down the other side. You can ’dobe-wall him in the tall timber, ’fore we get to Silverton. Don’t you worry those pretty black eyes.”
“Condescend to me one more time.”
“Christ, you’re in a sod-pawin mood.”
“And what if his wife and kid come along?”
“Well, I guess they won’t see Silverton, neither.”
“I want no part a killin that little girl.”
“Then you’ll have no part of it. Pour me another’n. Oh, fuck it, just give me the bottle.” Joss pushed it forward and Oatha thumbed off the cork, swallowed two mouthfuls.
“I gotta say,” Oatha said when he’d finished. “I’m consternated about the future a our association.”
“And why’s that?” Joss took back the bottle and drank.
“You know I love you, so don’t go gettin your underpinnings in a big fuckin knot when I say this.”
“What, goddamn it?”
“You’re a little smoky. Men tend to buck out around you.”
Joss smiled, whiskey running down her chin.
“What you think, I’m gonna make you come, Oath?”
“It’s a reasonable concern, all things considered.”
“Only thing to get you kilt by me is tryin to get me unshucked and in the willows. I see the way you look at me sometimes.”
“Think I want up in the snatch of a mestiza?”
“Right. Was it a hard climb up to the pass?”
“Wasn’t no holiday.”
“Why the fuck didn’t we do this in the summertime?”
“ ’Cause you gonna be doin the strangulation jig down in Arizona. Go on, tell Lana to git.”
“Lana!” Joss yelled over the piano. Lana stopped playing, stared down at her lap. “Lana, honey, I want you to go on home for the day. We gonna be closin up early. You ain’t done nothin wrong. Your playin was real pretty.”
Lana got up from the piano bench, walked to the coatrack, and slipped into her wool-lined cape, pulling the hood over her head.
“Lana,” Joss said. The young woman stopped in the doorway, her back to the bar, head hung low. “You take care now, okay?”
Lana went outside. When the door closed, Joss pulled the bowie out of its sheath, set the knife on the bar.
She and Oatha looked over at the deputy, who was still snoring quietly.
“The key to your shackles is—”
“On that big metal ring on Al’s hip.”
