“Oh, yeah,” Bill said. “Rode in a half hour ago. Why?”
“No reason,” Riley answered. “Just keepin’ tabs on the train members, that’s all.”
They came to the site of the graves. Somebody had found the wood and twine to tie together some crude crosses, and the bodies had already been lowered. When the gathered crowd saw Riley and Bill coming, they stopped their low hum of conversation and looked toward Riley.
He took off his hat. “I’m not one for Bible verses,” he said. “I’ll let you, Fletch, or you, Father, take care of that part. But I can tell you about the Banyons. I didn’t know ’em long, but long enough to know that Darren was the best I’ve seen for soothing a colicky mare or knowin’ how to hitch his team just right, so they didn’t ever sore. Martha was a beauty, and when it came to singin’ a tune, I doubt anyone would say she wasn’t the best they’d ever heard, especially in a wagon camp when people need some of the civilized things around them, fine things like music and manners.”
Someone in the crowd tittered at that, and he cleared his throat. “Well, maybe I made a bad choice of words right there. But I think you all know what I meant. And now, if one of you more religious gents will take over?”
He stepped aside, and Fletcher Bean took his place between the head markers. Solemnly, he bowed his head, opened his Bible, and began, “Let us pray . . .”
Jason got up the nerve to go talk to Rafe Lynch around two in the afternoon, long after the girls had gone home. He found himself walking slower and slower as he neared Abigail’s place, though, and had to mentally kick himself in the rump for being so scared. Lynch wasn’t going to do anything, he told himself, not and ruin his harbor in a whole fresh territory!
That helped a little, so he was walking faster when he came up to Solomon’s store. He knew full well that it was Sunday, but that had never before stopped Solomon from being open. Curious, he stopped and peeked in the front window, cupping a hand over his eyes to cut the glare.
What he saw surprised him. He saw the backroom door open, and Dr. Morelli step out and shake hands with Solomon, who’d been kneeling against a counter. The look on Solomon’s face was ecstatic, and he pushed Morelli aside to go into the room, but Morelli blocked his passage, speaking to him very seriously. Solomon nodded just as solemnly, and then burst out in a fresh grin. He leapt up in the air, laughing, and finally Jason could make out some words through the glass.
“A girl! It’s a girl!” Solomon shouted, and then gave Morelli one of those big bear hugs of his.
Morelli freed himself after a moment, and when he walked outside again, Jason was standing there on the boardwalk, smiling at him.
“Lived, didn’t it?” Jason asked with a grin on his face.
The doctor allowed himself a small smile. “Yes, she did. I’m very happy for them, but . . .”
“But what?”
“The baby isn’t quite right, Jason. I think there’s something wrong with her heart.” Morelli shook his head slowly. “But it was a tad early. Sometimes these things just fix themselves with time, if there is any. This may have been what killed the boys, too, but since their religion prohibits any sort of postmortem . . .” He stared at the ground for a moment, then looked up. “Well, I must go. My wife’s waiting dinner for me.” He tipped his hat and cut across the street, making a beeline for his house.
Jason leaned back against the storefront, and shaking his head, muttered, “Well, I’ll be dogged.” He hoped Morelli was right about time fixing things. The last thing he needed was Solomon shooting up the place again.
He was just opening the doors into Abigail’s place when someone fired a gun—and not too far from him! He whipped around and saw that it was Solomon Cohen himself, gun in hand, and screaming, “It’s a girl! It’s a girl!” He fired up into the air once again, then took off at a dead run, right down the center of town.
Jason took off right after him.
He caught up with Solomon only about six or seven steps later (Jason having the longer legs of the two, and not being nearly so giddy with joy) and wrested the gun away from Solomon.
“Yes, we know it’s a girl! I reckon even the Apache, practically down on the Mexican border, know it, too!”
Solomon wasn’t easily calmed or stilled, though. “But it’s a girl, Jason, and she’s alive!” he shouted, so loudly that it hurt Jason’s ears. He blinked, and had to quickly change position when Solomon tried to take his gun back.
“There’ll be none a’ that, now. Why don’t you come on over to the office, and we’ll toast her with a cup a’ coffee. I made it, Ward didn’t,” he added as an incentive. Ward made terrible coffee.
Solomon stood up straight. “Why, Jason! You’re not goin’ to arrest me!?”
“Just until you settle yourself down. I can’t have you runnin’ all over town, shootin’ and maimin’ folks.”
“I’m not—”
“I know, Solomon,” Jason said as he began to get them aimed toward the jail. “I know you’re not tryin’ to harm a soul. But you gotta admit that you ain’t the best shot. What if you was to shoot somebody by accident and they died? Think about how bad you’d feel then! And think how bad I’d feel, havin’ to hang you after all we been through together!”
By this time, Jason had Solomon nearly to the office, and Sol wasn’t fighting him. But in the half-second it took to let go of his arm and open the office door, Solomon snatched back the pistol, jumped away, and fired twice (down toward the open ground by the stockade wall), hollering, “Yahoo!”
Jason grabbed him from behind, shaking his wrist until the gun fell into the dirt. “Jesus Christ, Solomon, gimme a break, all right?”
“You shouldn’t be taking the name of a prophet in vain,” Solomon scolded.
“And you shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near firearms when your wife’s havin’ a baby!” Jason shoved him back toward the jailhouse. This time, he got him clear through the front door and locked in a cell, then had to run outside again to pick up his gun.
The first thing Solomon said to him, once he came back inside, was, “So, I was promised coffee, already?”
Across the street, the Reverend Milcher sat alone in his church.
