immediately, followed by the back wheel doing the same.
“Goddammit, can’t you drive this cussed thing? If’n I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a…” He groaned, then picked up where he left off. “I heard the boys agigglin’ and carryin’ on, but as I said, that wasn’t for me. No, sir, my mama didn’t raise no rape person, huh-uhh, nosirree. I kept telling Petey, ‘Pete, it ain’t right, I tell ya.’ But nobody tells Pete nothing, uh-huh… what a guy. Makes me chuckle to think on it. We was all in Abilene, Kansas, and there was this ole gal what could do things with her private parts that would make a body tie up in fits. Well, she didn’t shine up to Petey so good—”
Jubal stopped the wagon and slapped Frisk on the rump. She snapped against her traces, shaking the buckboard with a mighty lurch.
“Dammit to hell!”
After the punishing jolt, Ty sniffled and carried on for a while, then finally drifted off to sleep.
After a mile or so, Jubal heard him stirring.
“What would you say, farmer, if I was to simply mount my horse and ride on out of here. What would you say?”
Jubal didn’t answer, just gestured with his hand as if to say, Help yourself.
“The bed of this wagon stinks. Looks all nasty with blood and shit and stuff. Don’t you have a blanket I could put under my head, for Christ’s sake?” He snickered. “Yeah, old Petey and I’ll be friends ‘til the day we die.”
“Day before yesterday,” said Jubal.
“What’d you say? I didn’t understand. I wasn’t condoning what Petey does, I simply said we would be—”
“I heard what you said, Ty, and I said, ‘Day before yesterday.’ That’s when you and your friend Petey ceased being friends.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s baffling. Your bosom pal, Petey, didn’t mention you the last I saw him. Oh, he talked about a lot of folks.… I could hear him bouncing down the ravine, yelling threats. Your Mexican pal Jorge, his trip was… I think the word is ‘unencumbered.’ Yeah, Petey reached deep into the darkness. Your tough friend managed to go down a list of people he wished to be damned—his mother ‘the filthy whore’, his father, I think, he described as a ‘rotten bastard’, and, ah, yes, me. A rotten pup whom his friends, guess that would include you, should castrate. Yeah, Petey might have lived for an hour, maybe. I hope so. I pray the pain enveloped him in hot misery until he breathed his last.” The dull pain in Jubal’s hip aggravated him. He shifted on the hard buckboard seat.
“I don’t believe you,” Ty finally said. “Petey dead? Nah. Huh-uh.”
“Petey didn’t die well, Ty. No, both Pete and Jorge entertained me for several long seconds while they tumbled, shouting their guts out.” Jubal tried to rein in his anger but couldn’t. “The blood and waste on the wagon floor, by the way, are from my family. If you open your mouth again before we get to town, Ty, I’ll let you hop and skip on in to Cerro Vista on your own, agreed?”
“Nobody kills Pete Wetherford.” He took an instant. “All right, agreed.”
The buckboard creaked its way toward town. Jubal dug his mother’s Bible from inside his shirt, wrapped the reins around his arm, and leafed through the worn pages. He tried to recall a quote about weakness his ma used to repeat. He couldn’t remember if it was from the Bible or not. He pictured his mother standing proud at the cabin door. “Weakness is—” No, it was “cruelty.” “All cruelty springs from weakness,” she’d said.
EIGHT
Cerro Vista had a welcoming feel, the locals all pleasantly busy. A man called out to Jubal, “What’s you hauling, sonny?” Main Street was lined up with mostly wood-frame buildings, each looking much like its neighbor. A few adobe-style homes dotted the street, but most of them had been converted to boardinghouses or small dry goods stores. The Wicks, a grand Victorian and Cerro Vista’s only hotel, stood at the end of
“Goddammit, can’t you drive this cussed thing? If’n I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a…” He groaned, then picked up where he left off. “I heard the boys agigglin’ and carryin’ on, but as I said, that wasn’t for me. No, sir, my mama didn’t raise no rape person, huh-uhh, nosirree. I kept telling Petey, ‘Pete, it ain’t right, I tell ya.’ But nobody tells Pete nothing, uh-huh… what a guy. Makes me chuckle to think on it. We was all in Abilene, Kansas, and there was this ole gal what could do things with her private parts that would make a body tie up in fits. Well, she didn’t shine up to Petey so good—”
Jubal stopped the wagon and slapped Frisk on the rump. She snapped against her traces, shaking the buckboard with a mighty lurch.
“Dammit to hell!”
After the punishing jolt, Ty sniffled and carried on for a while, then finally drifted off to sleep.
After a mile or so, Jubal heard him stirring.
“What would you say, farmer, if I was to simply mount my horse and ride on out of here. What would you say?”
Jubal didn’t answer, just gestured with his hand as if to say, Help yourself.
“The bed of this wagon stinks. Looks all nasty with blood and shit and stuff. Don’t you have a blanket I could put under my head, for Christ’s sake?” He snickered. “Yeah, old Petey and I’ll be friends ‘til the day we die.”
“Day before yesterday,” said Jubal.
“What’d you say? I didn’t understand. I wasn’t condoning what Petey does, I simply said we would be—”
“I heard what you said, Ty, and I said, ‘Day before yesterday.’ That’s when you and your friend Petey ceased being friends.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s baffling. Your bosom pal, Petey, didn’t mention you the last I saw him. Oh, he talked about a lot of folks.… I could hear him bouncing down the ravine, yelling threats. Your Mexican pal Jorge, his trip was… I think the word is ‘unencumbered.’ Yeah, Petey reached deep into the darkness. Your tough friend managed to go down a list of people he wished to be damned—his mother ‘the filthy whore’, his father, I think, he described as a ‘rotten bastard’, and, ah, yes, me. A rotten pup whom his friends, guess that would include you, should castrate. Yeah, Petey might have lived for an hour, maybe. I hope so. I pray the pain enveloped him in hot misery until he breathed his last.” The dull pain in Jubal’s hip aggravated him. He shifted on the hard buckboard seat.
“I don’t believe you,” Ty finally said. “Petey dead? Nah. Huh-uh.”
“Petey didn’t die well, Ty. No, both Pete and Jorge entertained me for several long seconds while they tumbled, shouting their guts out.” Jubal tried to rein in his anger but couldn’t. “The blood and waste on the wagon floor, by the way, are from my family. If you open your mouth again before we get to town, Ty, I’ll let you hop and skip on in to Cerro Vista on your own, agreed?”
“Nobody kills Pete Wetherford.” He took an instant. “All right, agreed.”
The buckboard creaked its way toward town. Jubal dug his mother’s Bible from inside his shirt, wrapped the reins around his arm, and leafed through the worn pages. He tried to recall a quote about weakness his ma used to repeat. He couldn’t remember if it was from the Bible or not. He pictured his mother standing proud at the cabin door. “Weakness is—” No, it was “cruelty.” “All cruelty springs from weakness,” she’d said.
EIGHT
Cerro Vista had a welcoming feel, the locals all pleasantly busy. A man called out to Jubal, “What’s you hauling, sonny?” Main Street was lined up with mostly wood-frame buildings, each looking much like its neighbor. A few adobe-style homes dotted the street, but most of them had been converted to boardinghouses or small dry goods stores. The Wicks, a grand Victorian and Cerro Vista’s only hotel, stood at the end of
Similar Books
