“The one hundred dollars is just to get him to come speak with me,” Quentin said. “Tell him that I guarantee that we will come to an agreement that he will find satisfactory.”
“All right,” Cole said. Cole started toward the corral.
“Oh, and Cole?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you can’t find him, or if for some reason you can’t persuade him to come back with you, don’t bother to come back.”
“I’ll find him, Mr. Quentin. And I’ll bring him back,” Cole promised.
“What are you doing here?” Deputy Wilson asked when Mary Lou Culpepper came into the marshal’s office.
“I’ve brought food for Mr. Pearlie,” Mary Lou said.
“What the hell is it with this man?” Wilson asked. “Have the Yorks taken him to raise? First Lenny came by to feed him, then his mama, and now his whore.”
Mary Lou didn’t respond.
“You are Lenny’s whore, aren’t you?”
“I am his friend,” Mary Lou said.
“His whore friend, you mean. All right, all right, go ahead. Take the food to him. Only, next time you come here, you better bring a little extra for me. Otherwise, I’ll eat whatever you brung him. Go on, take his food to him. Only, don’t you be givin’ him anything more than food back there, if you know what I mean,” Wilson added with a ribald laugh.
“Thank you,” Mary Lou said, walking quickly to the cells at the back of the office, as much to get away from Wilson as for any other reason.
Because it was late in the day and the filtered light coming through the window was weak, the shadows reached into the three cells. For a moment, Mary Lou saw no one.
“Mr. Pearlie?” she called out.
“It’s just Pearlie,” a male voice replied. He moved out of the shadows so she could see him.
“I’ve brought you your supper,” she said, pulling the cover off the tray.
Seeing the food brought a smile to Pearlie’s face. “If I stay here long enough, I’m liable to get fat,” he said. “That is, if I don’t hang first.”
“Oh, you mustn’t say that,” Mary Lou said quickly. “It’s bad luck.”
“You’re Lenny’s friend, aren’t you?” Pearlie said. “I saw you in the saloon on the day it happened.”
“Yes.”
“Lenny is a very lucky man,” Pearlie said as he bit into a ham and biscuit sandwich.
“Oh, we aren’t that kind of friends,” Mary Lou said. “Besides, someone as fine as Lenny, I mean, he plays the piano and all, could never really be that kind of friends with someone like me. Maybe you don’t know it, but I’m a— uh—a whore.”
“Like I said,” Pearlie said. “Lenny is a very lucky man to have a friend like you.”
Chapter Seventeen
The two young men stopped in front of the Ace High Saloon, dismounted, and looped the reins around the hitching rail. Both were wearing long trail dusters, and they brushed their hands against them, raising a cloud of dust.
“Whoa, hold it there, Jerry,” one of the two said, coughing. “You’re near’bout smotherin’ me with all the trail dust you’re a-raisin’ there.”
Jerry laughed. “Yeah, like you just stepped out of a washtub, I s’pose? Come on, Ken, let’s get somethin’ to wet down our gullets. Then we’ll get us a bath, a bottle, and find us someplace to have a real good dinner.”
“And a couple of women,” Ken replied. “Let’s don’t forget to get us a couple of women.”
“You wantin’ to spend all that money we stole in one night, are you?” Jerry asked.
Ken chuckled. “Why not? As easy as that money was to get, we can always get some more. Did you see how that old fart shook when we told him we was robbin’ him?”
“Come on, let’s get us a couple of beers.”
The two men stepped into the saloon, then stopped for a moment to have a look around. The saloon was busy, but not crowded. There were several empty tables, and several empty spots along the bar. One of the men standing at the bar was Cole Mathers, and he paid little attention to the two men as they came in.
“Want to stand at the bar or sit at a table?” Ken asked.
“Let’s sit at a table,” Jerry suggested, and the two men found one near the stove. Because it was summer, the stove was cold, and had been for several weeks now. But even though there was no fire in the stove at the present, the remnants of past fires were still present in the unmistakable aroma of old smoke and burnt wood.
“Oh, that ain’t good,” the bartender said when the two young men sat down.
