stirred up real good. Making up with her was always
better than the fighting. Then, too, the rain made him
remember those good parts real well and he knew for
sure he missed those times when it rained—him and
her lying abed watching it before and after making
love. He reckoned he was somewhere around forty
years old. She was, too. They might just as well get
married again and grow old together rather than
grow old alone he reasoned. He knew Karen’s ways,
and she knew his, and he couldn’t see learning all that
stuff over again with a new woman.
Jake said, “We better find a place and make camp.”
“I know where there’s an old soddy nobody lives
in not too far from here,” Toussaint said. “Used to be
lived in by these two Irish brothers who thought
they’d come west to make their fortune. From Brook-
lyn, New York, I believe they said they were from.
Last time I came across them one had died of some-
thing and the other was nearly starved to death him-
self. I hunted him some dreaming rabbits and it saved
him, eating those dreaming rabbits. Anyway, the last
time I come out this way he was gone, the place about
ruined, the roof half caved in, but funny thing was all
the furniture was still there.”
“What are we waiting for, point the way,” Jake said.
They found the place still standing, what there was
of it. One wall had collapsed and most of the roof as
well, but there was a bit of shelter nonetheless.
“I guess we should have come better prepared,”
Jake said.
“You thought we’d find them quick,” Toussaint said.
“I’m new at this.”
“I know it. Manhunting is something you learn as
you go.”
They sat in a pair of the chairs the brothers had left
behind, in under what was left of the roof. The hiss of
rain had to it a hypnotic effect.
“Can I ask you something?” Toussaint said.
The question came out of the shadows and was one
Jake hadn’t expected.
“Sure.”
“You ever bad in love with a woman?”
“I was.”
“I guess it didn’t work out or you wouldn’t be in
this country alone.”
“You’d guess right.”
“You mind me asking why it went wrong between
you and her?”
“There a reason you want to know about my love
life?”
“Yeah, figure you might know more’n me about
what’s in a white woman’s heart.”
“Karen, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a long sad story I’d have to tell you about the
woman I was in love with,” Jake said. “One I’d just as
soon not remember.”
“Sure, I understand,” Toussaint said. “None of
that stuff is easy for a man. Thing is, I’m thinking of
taking up with her again.”
“Good luck.”
“Some rain, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“You think we’ll find Martha alive out there
somewhere?”
“It’s hard country,” Jake said. “You’d know that
better than me.”
“This is hard country on a woman, for sure.”
“Hard country all the way around, the way I see it.”
“You think women have it in them to forget past
injustices?”
“Probably more so than most men.”
“I hope we find her alive.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
The sound of rain sang them to sleep.
22
Fallon Monroe saw the shadow of a shape that
looked like a shack and spurred his stolen horse to-
ward it. The rain had beaten his hat down and filled
his boots. It was a cold evil rain, he thought, like
something God would send to drown an evil man, or
at the very least punish him for his sins. Fallon wasn’t
a big believer in God or sins, but he was some because
his old man had been in the God business and some of
it had rubbed off.
He drew in at the ramshackle place, didn’t see a
light on inside, figured rightly it was vacant. He tied
off and went in slapping rain from his hat. He found
an old bull’s-eye lantern and lit it, looked around. It
was a bigger than usual shack with several cots in two
rooms, rusted cookstove with nickel-plated legs. And,
except for the loose floorboards and the strange smell
of the place, he thought to himself, it’s just like a fine
hotel. He found some canned goods and some mealy
flour and a chunk of salt-cured pork and within the
hour he’d eaten his fill. He pulled his tobacco from an
inside pocket along with his papers and fashioned
himself a shuck and smoked it sitting out of the way
