apologetic. If anything, put out probably best described his manner, and the notion that he'd forgotten all about them made Hannah want to spit nails through his ears.
"Oh, for crying in a bucket, Hannah Grace, whatever are you doing in there? I heard you'd gone and locked yourself inside a jail cell, but I refused to believe it till I saw it with my own eyes. And who have we here?" Her eyes flitted to the bedraggled boy who'd kept his body stiff as a poker. "Kindly unlock the door, Mr. Devlin. I need to make sure my sister is unharmed."
"Oh, she's unharmed, all right," he said. The slightest grin tipped the corners of his mouth as he stepped forward and turned the latch-without the use of a key. Both women stared, dumbstruck. "What-you think I would really lock an innocent woman in a jail cell?"
"You mean...? Oh!" Hannah sputtered, abashed. She found herself propping her hands on her waist and pushing out her chin. "What of this innocent child?"
He cocked his blond head and squinted down at her, a most disarming maneuver. "Innocent? The little whippersnapper tried to bite me. He might be better to stay locked up for a while."
Hannah swallowed down a rejoinder when the young boy wriggled off the cot and walked across the room. Just when she thought he might utter the beginnings of a word, he pushed open the door, bypassed the sheriff, and walked up to Maggie. Wordlessly, she bent at the waist. Without a sound, he raised his soiled hand and lifted the towel on the casserole. Then, while peering under it, he inhaled loudly and gave the first hints of a smile.
Another milestone!
"I ain't shootin' no kid,"
Wispy clouds drifted past a shiny half-moon, which, along with the starlit sky and blazing campfire, emitted enough light to read by-if anyone had a mind to read, that is. But none did. The stale stench of cooked bluegill and burnt beans carried through the air, souring everyone's dispositions.
"You will if I say so, jughead," groused Rufus McCurdy, father to the three deadbeats lounging close by. "I tol' you right from the start, if you was gonna work with me, you was gonna go by my rules. If y' cain't abide by 'em, y' best scatand watch yer back on yer way out!" He spat a wad of chewing tobacco into the fire and watched his three boys, men now, go stiff as dead carps on hot sand. I've still got the touch, he thought; I still have the say-so 'round here.
"I ain't goin' nowhere," muttered the youngest, Luis, aka jughead. "But I ain't happy 'bout shootin' no half-pint."
"I'll do it-iffin' I catch 'im," said the oldest, Roy. "The squirt ain't easy t' catch, though. He been jumpin' from town t' town like a flea on a griddle. Thought we had'im back in that town o' Niles, till he climbed aboard that train and rode clear t' St. Joseph. The kid ain't dumb. Seems t' sense we's chasin' 'im. I swear, when he climbed the ladder on that movin' train, he looked back at me as if t' say, `You cain't catch me,' but, truth is, I don't know as he really saw me. All's I know is no li'l three-foot-high tadpole's gonna get the best o' me."
Rufus breathed a little easier, knowing he at least had the support of his oldest. Roy, twenty-two, had always been the most dependable of the sorry bunch. Luis, on the other hand, had a ways to go, being he was the youngest and not much more than a boy himself at fifteen. Reuben, the middle sonnow, he was another story. Pigheaded and impulsive, for sure, but slow on the draw. Rufus worried that one of these days, Reuben would get them all killed.
"It's important we stick together on this," he instructed, coughing up a wad of spittle mixed with tobacco juice. "And don't go talkin' t' nobody else." He eyed Reuben in particular. "You already opened your big yapper to that harlot in South Bend, you fool. I don't wanna hear 'bout you pullin' somethin' as dumbheaded as that again. You understand?" Reuben moved his head up and down while he scribbled in the dirt with a stick.
Rufus cursed and leaned
"Oh, for crying in a bucket, Hannah Grace, whatever are you doing in there? I heard you'd gone and locked yourself inside a jail cell, but I refused to believe it till I saw it with my own eyes. And who have we here?" Her eyes flitted to the bedraggled boy who'd kept his body stiff as a poker. "Kindly unlock the door, Mr. Devlin. I need to make sure my sister is unharmed."
"Oh, she's unharmed, all right," he said. The slightest grin tipped the corners of his mouth as he stepped forward and turned the latch-without the use of a key. Both women stared, dumbstruck. "What-you think I would really lock an innocent woman in a jail cell?"
"You mean...? Oh!" Hannah sputtered, abashed. She found herself propping her hands on her waist and pushing out her chin. "What of this innocent child?"
He cocked his blond head and squinted down at her, a most disarming maneuver. "Innocent? The little whippersnapper tried to bite me. He might be better to stay locked up for a while."
Hannah swallowed down a rejoinder when the young boy wriggled off the cot and walked across the room. Just when she thought he might utter the beginnings of a word, he pushed open the door, bypassed the sheriff, and walked up to Maggie. Wordlessly, she bent at the waist. Without a sound, he raised his soiled hand and lifted the towel on the casserole. Then, while peering under it, he inhaled loudly and gave the first hints of a smile.
Another milestone!
"I ain't shootin' no kid,"
Wispy clouds drifted past a shiny half-moon, which, along with the starlit sky and blazing campfire, emitted enough light to read by-if anyone had a mind to read, that is. But none did. The stale stench of cooked bluegill and burnt beans carried through the air, souring everyone's dispositions.
"You will if I say so, jughead," groused Rufus McCurdy, father to the three deadbeats lounging close by. "I tol' you right from the start, if you was gonna work with me, you was gonna go by my rules. If y' cain't abide by 'em, y' best scatand watch yer back on yer way out!" He spat a wad of chewing tobacco into the fire and watched his three boys, men now, go stiff as dead carps on hot sand. I've still got the touch, he thought; I still have the say-so 'round here.
"I ain't goin' nowhere," muttered the youngest, Luis, aka jughead. "But I ain't happy 'bout shootin' no half-pint."
"I'll do it-iffin' I catch 'im," said the oldest, Roy. "The squirt ain't easy t' catch, though. He been jumpin' from town t' town like a flea on a griddle. Thought we had'im back in that town o' Niles, till he climbed aboard that train and rode clear t' St. Joseph. The kid ain't dumb. Seems t' sense we's chasin' 'im. I swear, when he climbed the ladder on that movin' train, he looked back at me as if t' say, `You cain't catch me,' but, truth is, I don't know as he really saw me. All's I know is no li'l three-foot-high tadpole's gonna get the best o' me."
Rufus breathed a little easier, knowing he at least had the support of his oldest. Roy, twenty-two, had always been the most dependable of the sorry bunch. Luis, on the other hand, had a ways to go, being he was the youngest and not much more than a boy himself at fifteen. Reuben, the middle sonnow, he was another story. Pigheaded and impulsive, for sure, but slow on the draw. Rufus worried that one of these days, Reuben would get them all killed.
"It's important we stick together on this," he instructed, coughing up a wad of spittle mixed with tobacco juice. "And don't go talkin' t' nobody else." He eyed Reuben in particular. "You already opened your big yapper to that harlot in South Bend, you fool. I don't wanna hear 'bout you pullin' somethin' as dumbheaded as that again. You understand?" Reuben moved his head up and down while he scribbled in the dirt with a stick.
Rufus cursed and leaned
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