take you home.”
She didn’t offer to get up. Jake lifted her and set
her on behind Toussaint.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Everything will be all
right. Just hold onto Mr. Trueblood.”
“We did okay,” Toussaint said as they started back
to town. “We didn’t have to kill anybody and we got
Martha back.”
“It’s a good day,” Jake said.
“I’m still wondering something,” Toussaint said.
“What’s that?”
“Who that Indian stole those three nice saddle
horses from.”
“It’s enough we got Martha back,” Jake said.
“Let’s not concern ourselves with other mysteries.”
“Yeah,” Toussaint said. But it didn’t stop his won-
dering.
24
Where the roads diverged, Toussaint stopped
and said, “I been thinking I’ll ride over and see
Karen. Can you handle the rest of this by yourself?”
“Sure,” Jake said.
They transferred Martha to the back of Jake’s
horse. She still seemed a bit lost in the head.
“I’ll swing round sometime tomorrow to collect
my pay,” Toussaint said.
Jake nodded, said, “Thanks for your help on this.”
“Didn’t have to kill nobody, didn’t have to bury
nobody. Nice way to make a living. See you back in
town.”
Jake put spurs to the horse, anxious to be back in
Sweet Sorrow again.
He stopped near Cooper’s Creek to water the horse
and allow him and the woman to stretch their legs.
“This is where it happened,” Martha said. “Right
near here, where me and Otis was having a picnic . . .
and . . .” Tears spilled down her cheeks thinking
about it, the joy of that day before the Swede came
along and the sorrow that followed after he came
along.
“It’s over now,” Jake said. “That man who took
you—the Swede—he’s dead. He won’t be bothering
you again.”
“That old fellow killed him, didn’t he?”
“Yes, it looks like maybe they killed each other.”
“Good,” Martha said. “Wasn’t a one of them any
good.”
“Best not to think about it further,” Jake said, then
helped her on the back of his horse and rode on to the
town.
Once arrived, Jake reined in at the general store.
He helped the woman down and walked her to the
front door. She hesitated, pulled back.
“Go on in,” Jake said.
“I’m afraid,” Martha said.
“Of what?”
“I’m afraid Otis won’t want me no more . . . now
that I been . . .”
“Don’t be silly. You were all he talked about when
we found him. Go on and go in.”
Jake waited until she did, then rode his horse over
to the livery where Sam Toe sat repairing a cinch
strap. Sam Toe looked up, looked at the horse. As-
sured it had not been abused he toted up a paper bill
and handed it to Jake. Jake looked at it, then
reached in his pocket and paid for the rent of the
horse.
“I don’t see that mule,” Sam Toe said. “You lose
him?”
“Toussaint’s still got him. He should be in later to-
day, maybe tomorrow. When he does, come and see
me and I’ll pay what I owe you on it.”
Jake started to walk up to the school. Sam Toe
said, “You get that fellow you were after?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Jake said and contin-
ued on.
“In a manner of speaking?” Sam Toe said to him-
self, shaking his head. “Sure enough some high talk
for a damn lawman.”
Jake found Clara at the school—a series of addition
problems written in chalk on the board, the children
with heads bent doing the problems on smaller chalk-
boards, the click and clack of their chalk like some-
thing with bad teeth chewing bone.
Clara saw him standing in the doorway and came
to the back of the classroom.
“You’ve come back for the boy,” she said.
“Yes, but if you could watch him just a bit longer,
until I can arrange to take him tomorrow to the or-
phanage down in Bismarck, I’d appreciate it.”
She hesitated with her answer, then said, “There’s
a favor I’d like to ask you as well.”
“Sure, name it.”
“Can you go to my house and have a look at my
father?”
“What’s wrong with him?”
She explained how William Sunday had come to
dinner and how she’d found him later lying in the
