had fancy goods and the like.
One of them, Mrs. Judith Strong, had a wagon packed nearly to the canopy with all kinds of yard goods and an assortment of notions, and she sold both the girls the material to make one new dress each.
While they were jabbering with her, Jason busied himself talking to Riley, the wagon master, and strolling down the line. “Where’s Sampson Davis this mornin’?” Jason asked. He hadn’t seen the man.
Riley shook his head. “I dunno. Lost him last night. Figured he was stayin’ at your hotel or somethin’.”
Jason shook his head. “Already been there. And it’s a boardinghouse, actually.”
“Whatever.”
They kept walking.
Riley began, “About that axle and wheel man . . . I wondered if—”
“Ward rode out first thing,” Jason said with a smile when he cut Riley off. “Ought to be back early this afternoon. Give him time. It’s a ways.”
Riley nodded. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Jason said, and grinned at him. Riley grinned back. “All your folks make it through the storm all right? Except the ones that lost their lids, I mean.”
“Two of us didn’t make it,” Riley said gravely. “Wind took their wagon and rolled it a couple times. They got crushed under the weight of their own belongings.”
Jason shook his head. “Shame. They linger?”
“Nope,” Riley replied. “Died instantaneous.”
Jason nodded. Some things were best when they were over quickly.
Riley didn’t speak. He just nodded alongside Jason.
A boy came walking toward them, a boy whose heels were tagged by the goofiest-looking hound dog that Jason had ever seen. Well, he thought it was a hound, anyway, or maybe part hound. He nudged Riley and tipped his head toward it. “What the hell is that?” he asked.
“Up there? That’s Bill Crachit.
“I mean, what’s that thing followin’ him?”
“Oh! That’s the Grimms’ dog, Hannibal.”
Jason sighed. “I mean, what’s his breeding?”
Riley laughed. “Oh. Accordin’ to Tom Grimm, Hannibal is half Louisiana Black-mouthed cur, and half Redbone hound. ’Course, you couldn’t prove any of it by me.”
It was Jason’s turn to laugh this time. “No wonder I was confused!”
Riley said, “Join the party, Marshal.”
When Bill Crachit and Hannibal neared them, they stopped and Jason said, “Can I see your dog?”
Shyly, Bill said, “Sure, mister.”
While Jason bent to the dog—a houndy-headed, droopy-eared beast, colored and ticked like a redbone, but coarser-haired and bushy-tailed—Riley said, “Jason, here, isn’t just a ‘Mister,’ Bill. He’s Marshal Fury.”
“Sorry, Marshal,” said Bill after a gulp. “I-I didn’t know.”
Jason looked up from the dog, which was happily wagging his tail. “That’s all right, Bill,” he said. “You just call me Jason. Say, this is a right friendly dog you’ve got here. Or I guess he’s the Grimms’ dog, right?”
Bill glanced quickly at Riley, then said, “Yessir, he is.”
“Don’t believe I’ve ever seen . . . anything quite like him.”
Bill smiled for the first time. “Neither had anybody else on the train. He’s a oner, all right.” His hand dropped down to scratch the dog’s head, and Hannibal complied by leaning his body against the boy’s leg and nearly knocking him over.
Jason shot out a hand to steady him: A lucky thing, or he would’ve been knocked into a wagon. Or maybe under it.
“Thanks,” Bill said, once he got his balance back again.
Jason noticed that the dog hadn’t moved a muscle, except for his eyelids, which were drifting closed. He decided he could really get to like this dog.
A new fellow, soberly dressed, came walking up from the rear, behind Bill Crachit. He stopped and tipped his head to Riley. “Good morning, Mr. Havens.” His hand went to the boy’s shoulder. “You, too, young Bill.”
Riley nodded, and Bill said, “Mornin’, Mr. Bean.” Turning to Jason, Riley announced, “This is one of our men of God, Jason. The Reverend Mr. Fletcher Bean. And Fletcher, this is Jason Fury, marshal of Fury.”
Jason stuck out his hand and Mr. Bean took it, adding, “God bless you, son.”
Not exactly sure what to reply to something like that, Jason simply said, “Uh, thanks.” And then he quickly added, “The same to you, Reverend!”
Their little group soon turned into a larger one, with folks walking up and down the line of wagons to introduce themselves. Jason shook hands with over a dozen people, although later, he’d be dogged if he could remember any of their names.
