The firelight was starting to throw dancing lights around the room. Longarm knelt over his bedroll, which he used as a pack as well. He came out with a two-quart, gray, well-chipped and scorched enamel coffeepot. He handed it to Shaw. “Why don’t you step on outside and fill that up with water. I’ll find us some tin cups and stuff and we’ll see about getting some supper on.”
After the coffee water was on to boil and as the fire was simmering down, Longarm got two cans of beans out of his pack, opened them with his broad-bladed pocketknife, and put them, along with a can of tomatoes, into a small, cast-iron skillet. He took what was left of Shaw’s dried beef, cut it into small pieces, added it to the beans, and then set the skillet on the hearth near the fire to warm. Before they ate, he wanted at least one cup of coffee sweetened with an equal amount of Maryland whiskey.
Shaw sat down in front of the fireplace and watched him work. He said, “You’re right handy around the kitchen, Miss Custis.”
Longarm didn’t look up. “You still got them two women you was telling me about down in Durango, Jack?”
“Yup. Wish to hell they were here right now. You wouldn’t care to make a short detour, would you?”
Longarm looked up. “To where?”
Shaw shrugged. He gave a little laugh. “I was kind of kidding. Wouldn’t be such a short detour.”
Longarm looked at him steadily, but didn’t say anything. Just then the coffee boiled over, grounds running onto the hot stones of the hearth.
Longarm hooked the pot by the handle with his knife blade and pulled it back to cool some and let the grounds settle.
Shaw said, “That ought to taste pretty good.” Longarm said, “Funny how a man gets used to a few comforts. He can stand damn near anything if they are handy. Like a cup of coffee at the right time.”
Shaw said abruptly, “Longarm, tell me about prison. You talked like I might have seen the inside of one when I was a lawman. I never did.”
“Never delivered no prisoners to the walls?”
Shaw shook his head. “Never was called upon to do so. Just never worked out to be my job. So I ain’t got the slightest idea what prison might be like.”
Longarm looked into the fire. He said slowly, “Well, they ain’t trying to pleasure you none, Jack, I can tell you that for sure.” He looked over at his prisoner. “But then they don’t send you there for singing too-loud in church. So it ain’t meant to be no picnic.”
“Yeah, but how close do they herd you? I mean, how close are you pent up?”
Longarm frowned. He didn’t want to say too much too soon. He didn’t want to spook Shaw and make him harder to handle than he knew he was going to be. He said, “Well, they work you, Jack. It’s hard work too. Breaking rocks, mostly. But I hear they feed you pretty good.”
“Naw, that ain’t what I meant. I’ve heard they have prison cells like we had jail cells. They got them?”
Longarm nodded. “Yeah, that’s where you are when you ain’t doing hard labor. Why?”
“How big are they, Longarm, them cells? They bigger than a jail cell?”
“No,” Longarm said reluctantly.
“They all bars like a jail cell?”
Longarm stared into the fire. He really didn’t want to answer. Shaw had already made it clear how he felt about being restricted. Even as he asked the questions Longarm could hear him breathing like he was short of breath. Longarm said, “You really want me to tell you, Jack?” He turned and looked at the outlaw.
Shaw looked nervous. He spat toward the door, which was just to his right. Then he said, shivering a little, “Getting kinda cool in here. Going to be a cold night.”
Longarm was wearing a canvas ducking jacket that he’d put on after the sun had gone down. He didn’t think Shaw was cold, but he said, “You got a coat in your bedroll? I’ll fetch it.”
Shaw shook his head. “Naw, never mind. I’m all right.”
Longarm took his bandanna off to use to hold the hot handle of the coffeepot. He put two tin cups down and poured both two-thirds full of the steaming coffee. He put a little sugar in his own, something he tried not to be without, and looked questioningly at Shaw. Shaw shook his head and said, “Just that sugar that comes in a bottle. They don’t let you have that in prison, do they?”
Longarm was about to raise the steaming cup to his lips. He lowered it and laughed. “Well, Jack, how’d you like to have to deal with about a thousand murderers and thieves if they was drunk?”
“I can hold my liquor,” Shaw said stiffly.
“Yeah, but that ain’t the point.” Longarm took a deep slurp of the whiskey-loaded coffee. The whiskey had cooled it off just enough where it wouldn’t burn his lips but was still plenty warm enough. He said, “Aaah!
Damn, seems like I been waiting about a hundred years for that. No, Jack, the point is everybody can’t hold their liquor. Besides, you got to keep it in your mind that they are aiming to punish you for what you done. Giving you whiskey ain’t exactly punishment.”
“I thought the idea was to lock you up where you couldn’t get up to no more devilment.”
Longarm shook his head. “Naw, naw. That’s partly true, but it ain’t all of it. When somebody comes out of prison they want to be sure he passes the word around that it is best to walk the straight and narrow rather than pack a six-by-eight cell.”
Shaw was on the words instantly. “Six-foot-by-eight-foot? Is that how big they are? Or how small? Hell, that’s a damn closet. I ain’t sure I could stand that. Imagine being crowded in like that. Can you talk to the hombres on either side of you?”
Longarm sighed. He had not wanted to get into this with his prisoner.
