“Well, bounty hunters come up on me about two or three months later. I buried one of them and toted the other one into a little town to the doc’s office. The marshal, he come up all blustered-up and I told him what happened and added that if he didn’t like my version of it, he could just clear leather and we’d settle it that way.”
He grinned boyishly. “The marshal didn’t like it, and I’ll admit I had my back up some. But he liked livin’ moreun gunfightin’. So I drifted on and things just kept gettin’ worser and worser. I couldn’t get no job ’cause of them posters out on me. I heard about this place and sort of drifted in. I ain’t no outlaw, but I don’t know what else to do with all them charges hangin’ over my head.”
Smoke thought on it. He believed the young man; believed him to be leveling as to the facts of it all. “Might I make a suggestion?”
“You shore could. I’d rather live in hell with rattlesnakes than in heaven with this bunch around here.”
Smoke couldn’t help it. He laughed at the young man’s expression. “York, why don’t you just change your name and drift. And by the way, do you still have the horse in question?”
“Naw. I turned him loose and caught me up a wild horse and broke him. He’s a good horse.”
“Well then, York, drift. Change your name and drift. Chances are that you’ll never be caught.”
“I thought of that. But damn it, DeBeers, I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. At least, not yet. And York is my family name. By God, I’m gonna stick with it. I’m doin’ some thinkin’ ’bout linkin’ up with Slim Bothwell’s bunch. They asked me to. I guess I ain’t got no choice. I don’t wanna hurt nobody or steal nothin’ from nobody. But, hell, I gotta eat!”
“York, you are not cut out for the outlaw life,” Smoke told him.
“Don’t I know it! Look, DeBeers, I listened to some of the men talk ’bout all they’ve done, in here and out there.” He jerked his thumb. “Damn near made me puke.” He sighed heavily. “I just don’t know what to do.”
Could this entire thing be a setup? Smoke wondered, and concluded that it certainly could be. But something about the young cowboy was awfully convincing. He decided to take a chance, but to do it without York knowing of it.
“Perhaps something will come up to change your mind, York.”
The cowboy looked up across the fire, trust in his eyes. “What?”
“I really have no idea. But hope springs eternal, York. You must always keep that in mind. Where are you staying while you’re here?”
“I ain’t got no place. Give that Dagget feller my last fifty dollars. He told me that give me five days in here.” He shook his head. “After that…I don’t know.”
“You’re welcome to stay here. I don’t have much, but you’re welcome to share with me.”
“That’s mighty white of you, DeBeers. And I’ll take you up on that.” He grinned at Smoke. “There is them that say you’re goofy. But I don’t think so. I think you’re just a pretty nice guy in a bad spot.”
“Thank you, York. And have you ever thought that might fit you as well?”
The grin faded. “Yeah, I reckon it might. I ain’t never done a dishonest thing in my life. Only difference is, you ain’t got no warrants hangin’ over your head. You can ride out of this hellhole anytime you take a notion. Me? I’m stuck, lookin’ at the wrong side of society!”
The next morning Smoke left the still-sleeping York a full pot of coffee, then took his sketch pad and went walking, as was his custom every morning. As the saloon came into view, Smoke noticed a large crowd gathered out front, in the street. And it was far too early for that many drinkers to have gathered.
“Let’s have some fun!” Smoke could hear the excited shout.
“Yeah. Let’s skin the son of a bitch!”
“Naw. Let’s give him to Brute.”
“Brute don’t want no dirty Injun.”
“Not unless it’s a young boy,” someone shouted with hard laugh.
“Hold it down!” a man hollered. “Mr. Davidson’s got a plan, and it’s a good one.”
Smoke stepped up to a man standing in the center of the street. “What on earth has happened here?”
The outlaw glanced at him. “The guards caught them an Injun about dawn. He was tryin’ to slip out over the mountains. No one knows what he was doin’ in town.” The man shut up, appraising Smoke through cool eyes, aware that he might have said too much.
“He must have slipped in on the road,” Smoke said quickly, noting the coolness in the man’s eyes fading. “It would be impossible to come in through those terribly high mountains around the town.”
The outlaw smiled. “Yeah. That’s what he done, all right. And there ain’t no tellin’ how long he’s been tryin’ to get out, right?”
“Oh, absolutely. I think the savage should be hanged immediately.” Smoke forced indignation into his voice.
The outlaw grinned. His teeth were blackened, rotted stubs. “You all right, Shirley. You’re beginnin’ to fit right in here. Yeah, the Injun’s gonna die. But it’s gonna be slow.”
“Why?” Smoke asked innocently.
“Why, hell’s fire, Shirley! So’s we can all have some fun, that’s why.”
“Oh. Of course.”
A man ran past Smoke and the outlaw, running in that odd bowlegged manner of one who has spent all his life on a horse.
