Kid Meets His Match? Or The Ringo Kid Teaches a Lesson? Or The Ringo Kid Takes His Time? I've read every one of them over and over until the pages started falling out. On the back cover of The Ringo Kid Evens the Score, it says that Mr. Anthony Bradford Chumms is 'an English gentleman who lends a cultured richness of expression to exciting tales of the American West.' '
'Well, now!' B. J. Stone said with mock respect. 'Lends a cultured richness of expression, does he? My, my!'
'Yes, sir. For my money, Mr. Anthony Bradford Chumms is the best writer in the whole wide world!'
'Me, I'll stick with old Lucilius. But I thought you said you could barely read your name?'
Matthew lowered his eyes and was silent for fully three seconds. Then: 'Yes, sir, I did say that. But it was a lie. I said I couldn't read because the Ringo Kid can't read, but everyone respects him anyway, because he's honest and fair. And I've always wanted to be like him.'
'Hm-m. You do a lot of lying, do you, Matthew?'
'I'm afraid I do, sir. I know it's a sin, but…' He shrugged. Then he grinned. 'But it sure saves a lot of trouble.'
'I see. Well, look here, Matthew-You don't mind me calling you Matthew, do you?'
'No, sir. You can call me anything, so long as you don't call me late for dinner!' He forced a chuckle at his pa's tired old joke.
B. J. Stone scrubbed his cheek stubble with his knuckles. 'Uh-huh. Well, look, Matthew. If you're hungry-and boys usually are-you can get something to eat down at the Bjorkvists' place. I'm not saying their food's good, you understand. Matter of fact, the best that can be said for it is that a strong man can keep most of it down.'
'Oh, I'm all right. I'm not hungry.' In fact, he hadn't eaten for a day and a half.
'Suit yourself. But it would be a good idea to get something inside you before you push on up to the mine.'
'The mine?'
'Aren't you on your way up to the Surprise Lode to look for work?'
'Well, no, I… To tell the truth, this is the first I heard about there being any mine in these hills.'
'Didn't the people down in Destiny tell you about the Lode?'
'I didn't ask. Everyone was running around, hooting and shouting about our glorious victory in Cuba.'
'Victory!' B. J. Stone snapped. 'A strong young nation bashes a tired old one that has nothing but worn-out ships commanded by inbred aristocrats, and you call that glorious? Under the cover of spreading democracy, we snatch off the Philippines and Puerto Rico. And while we're at it, we just pocket the Hawaiian Islands too! Thomas Jefferson would be spinning in his grave if he knew we'd become imperialists!'
Coots closed his eyes and shook his head. 'You just had to bring Cuba up, didn't you?' he said to Matthew.
'But, I-'
'Victory?' Stone pursued. 'Victory? William Randolph (I'm-so-rich-I-can-do-anything-I-goddamn-well-want) Hearst decides to boost the sales of his newspapers by whipping up a pack of mindless ruffians until their mouths foam with patriotic fury! And that publicity-hungry Roosevelt hires a bunch of polo players and a few out-of-work cowboys to charge up San Juan Hill-with plenty of reporters on hand, of course! But he quickly brings his Rough Riders back to Long Island to avoid the only real dangers in the whole war, malaria and yellow fever! Victory? You know how we won Guam Island, boy?'
'Ah… well, no, sir. But I-'
'I'll tell you how we won it. One of our ships pulled up and fired at the harbor, and the Spanish commander- who didn't even know there was a war on, for Christ's sake! — sent a messenger apologizing for not returning our salute, but he couldn't because there was no ammunition on the island. So we sent a rowboat ashore and claimed a valiant victory! Victory!'
The force of this tirade made Matthew glance nervously at Coots, who shrugged and asked his partner, 'You just about all through?'
B. J. Stone growled and sniffed. Then he nodded. 'Yes, I'm through. But… goddamn it, the idea of spilling young blood just so a few old men can-! Oh, don't get me started again.' He drew a deep breath, then said, 'So, Matthew. You say you didn't even know about the Surprise Lode? You just decided to walk all the way up the railroad cut on the outside chance that you might find work at the end of the line?'
'Well… I figured there must be something at the end of the line. Else why would they have built it? And it seemed like it might be nice up here, tucked away from everything.'
'You took one hell of a chance,' Coots told him. 'That track's mighty narrow, and the train could of flatten you like a turd under a wagon wheel. Hey, wait a minute…!'
'That's right! That train come near as nothing to killing me! I was walking up the track, fat and sassy, then all of a sudden I felt the rails shaking, and the next thing you know I heard the train coming up behind me. You better believe I started looking around for someplace to be, but it was all rock on one side, and nothing but air on the other! So I scrambled up-track as fast as I could, lugging my pack and gun, and just as the engine come round the bend, I found this crack in the wall and I squeezed into it with my face jammed up against the rock! And that train came roaring and sucking past my backside so close that every car knocked against the butt of my gun, click, click, click! I was sure something was going to catch on the strap and snatch me out to be killed. I was just certain that damn old gun was going to do for me, like it done for my pa.'
'Lord! That was a close shave!'
'Close? After it passed, I set down right there on the tracks, limp as a rag, my heart pounding away. To tell you the truth, if I would of known-'
'Let me give you some advice, boy,' Mr. Stone said. 'You should break that habit of saying 'to tell the truth' all the time, because people usually say that as a stall while they cook up a lie. And if you're hell-bent on being a liar, you might as well be a good one.'
The boy nodded thoughtfully. 'Thank you, sir. I'll remember that.'
'So I suppose you'll be pushing on up to the mine?' Coots said.
Matthew looked down and studied the ground. Then: 'No, sir, I don't believe I will. I think I'll just stay around here for a while.'
'But I just told you there's no work in Twenty-Mile,' Stone said with some exasperation.
'Yes, sir, you did. But there's something about this place that suits me.'
'There is?'
'Don't you worry, sir. I'll find work. Say, can I ask a favor?'
'Anything that doesn't cost me worry, work, money, or time.'
'Can I leave my bindle and gun with you while I look around town?'
'Suit yourself. But it's no use.'
The young man nodded and grinned. 'You're probably right, sir.' He stood up. 'Well, I sure do thank you for the coffee. It truly hit the spot.'
As they watched the boy walk back down the rutted street, B. J. Stone sipped his coffee pensively. 'What do you make of him, Coots?'
'Beats my two pair.'
'Why would a bright kid like that want to stay here, at the end of the world?'
'Could be he's hiding.'
'From what?'
'Beats my two pair.'
'Well, one thing's sure. He's not going to find work in this played-out town.'
'I wouldn't bet on it.'
State Prison, Laramie
WHEN HE ARRIVED TO take the midwatch, Guard Private John 'B B' Tillman was sorely troubled.
He had been surprised, but pleased, by the way Lieder had received the tracts his wife selected for his guidance. He had half-expected him to scoff and jeer, the way his fellow guards scoffed and called him a 'Bible bug' when he sought to share with them the precious gift of faith. But Lieder didn't jeer. He drew the rolled-up pages of the tracts in through his spy-hole respectfully, almost tenderly. And when they quietly discussed these messages of
