wagon-train story of yours is another matter.”
“I got me a job,” I says. “It don’t pay much but will feed us till something better comes along. I know some people starting up an express between here and Cheyenne and Laramie. If it pans out, they’ll probably be hiring.”
Bill raises his chin in a superior way and says, “I was going to offer you a partnership in my claim. Due to circumstances beyond my control I lost my pan and shovel and the wood I had bought for a sluicebox, and all, and if you could help me with—”
“Goddammit, Bill, I’m trying to be serious. You ain’t got no hopes for gold. Just forget about that.”
“It’s why I’m here at all, Jack,” he says loftily.
“You’re laying around drunk for days on end.”
“That’s just in my off time,” says he. “I’m usually out working my claim.”
I tell you, it hadn’t been that long since I found my brother and already I was real sick of him. I glanced around and asked, “Where’s your dog?”
“How do I know?” says Bill. “I never asked him to join up with me. He goes off when he feels like it. Maybe he’s giving it to some coyote girlfriend.”
“I got enough money to take you for a bath and breakfast.”
Bill wrinkles his nose under its layer of grime. “What I could use is a little—”
“Yeah, but what you’re getting is a bath and some beans and coffee.”
When we reached the bathhouse, where you sat in a tin tub while some fellow poured hot water on you from a bucket he dipped out of a big pot over a wood fire, and then after you soaped yourself, rinsed you with another, I forced Bill to take the dousings with all his clothes on.
“Jeezuz,” he whined afterwards, when we went outside. “I’ll catch my death all wet like this.”
It was a warm morning in August, as I pointed out, and he’d be dry in no time. “Come on, a cup of coffee will warm you up.”
I took him to the husky woman’s open-air kitchen, where she says, “Hey there, Billy, I wondered where you was lately.”
“You already know one another?” I asks, looking at each.
“Hell,” says she. “He’s the one I was telling you about.”
“He’s your boyfriend?”
“You tell him, Billy,” she asks my brother, but he just keeps looking miserable from being wet.
“He’s my brother,” I said sourly. “Feed him some coffee and beans.”
Bill now spoke up. “Nell, if you could sweeten my cup with a little bitters, I’d think kindly of you.”
Bitters is what some in those days called whiskey, probably because it sounded like medicine and could be pronounced before ladies and children.
“Don’t you do it, Nell,” I broke in. “I just got him washed, and I’m taking him to get shaved.”
She slams down a tin plate of beans on the board counter stretched between barrels, but so neatly none of it slopped over. “I don’t want him shaved,” said she. “I think he’s real handsome with his whiskers, like President General Grant.”
“You’re mighty pushy.”
She glared at me with little blue eyes set in a big red face. “He might be your brother—if so, he’s got all the looks in the family—but he happens to be my intended.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“I won’t stand for cursing in my establishment,” says she. “Any more of it, and I’ll wipe the floor with you.”
“You ain’t got a floor,” I says, real annoyed. “And earlier on, you had quite a foul mouth yourself.”
We was eye-to-eye for a while, and she turns her head and spits a long brown stream just past the coffeepot, and she says, turning back, in a nicer voice, “You’re a spunky little runt, ain’t you? But I guess I just got a soft spot in my heart for the Crabb boys.”
I didn’t want a row with her, so making up suited my purpose. “All right then,” I says. “I’m going to leave my brother in your capable hands, Nell, for I have an appointment. I don’t think he should drink any more right now, is all. I think he
“I got me a job,” I says. “It don’t pay much but will feed us till something better comes along. I know some people starting up an express between here and Cheyenne and Laramie. If it pans out, they’ll probably be hiring.”
Bill raises his chin in a superior way and says, “I was going to offer you a partnership in my claim. Due to circumstances beyond my control I lost my pan and shovel and the wood I had bought for a sluicebox, and all, and if you could help me with—”
“Goddammit, Bill, I’m trying to be serious. You ain’t got no hopes for gold. Just forget about that.”
“It’s why I’m here at all, Jack,” he says loftily.
“You’re laying around drunk for days on end.”
“That’s just in my off time,” says he. “I’m usually out working my claim.”
I tell you, it hadn’t been that long since I found my brother and already I was real sick of him. I glanced around and asked, “Where’s your dog?”
“How do I know?” says Bill. “I never asked him to join up with me. He goes off when he feels like it. Maybe he’s giving it to some coyote girlfriend.”
“I got enough money to take you for a bath and breakfast.”
Bill wrinkles his nose under its layer of grime. “What I could use is a little—”
“Yeah, but what you’re getting is a bath and some beans and coffee.”
When we reached the bathhouse, where you sat in a tin tub while some fellow poured hot water on you from a bucket he dipped out of a big pot over a wood fire, and then after you soaped yourself, rinsed you with another, I forced Bill to take the dousings with all his clothes on.
“Jeezuz,” he whined afterwards, when we went outside. “I’ll catch my death all wet like this.”
It was a warm morning in August, as I pointed out, and he’d be dry in no time. “Come on, a cup of coffee will warm you up.”
I took him to the husky woman’s open-air kitchen, where she says, “Hey there, Billy, I wondered where you was lately.”
“You already know one another?” I asks, looking at each.
“Hell,” says she. “He’s the one I was telling you about.”
“He’s your boyfriend?”
“You tell him, Billy,” she asks my brother, but he just keeps looking miserable from being wet.
“He’s my brother,” I said sourly. “Feed him some coffee and beans.”
Bill now spoke up. “Nell, if you could sweeten my cup with a little bitters, I’d think kindly of you.”
Bitters is what some in those days called whiskey, probably because it sounded like medicine and could be pronounced before ladies and children.
“Don’t you do it, Nell,” I broke in. “I just got him washed, and I’m taking him to get shaved.”
She slams down a tin plate of beans on the board counter stretched between barrels, but so neatly none of it slopped over. “I don’t want him shaved,” said she. “I think he’s real handsome with his whiskers, like President General Grant.”
“You’re mighty pushy.”
She glared at me with little blue eyes set in a big red face. “He might be your brother—if so, he’s got all the looks in the family—but he happens to be my intended.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“I won’t stand for cursing in my establishment,” says she. “Any more of it, and I’ll wipe the floor with you.”
“You ain’t got a floor,” I says, real annoyed. “And earlier on, you had quite a foul mouth yourself.”
We was eye-to-eye for a while, and she turns her head and spits a long brown stream just past the coffeepot, and she says, turning back, in a nicer voice, “You’re a spunky little runt, ain’t you? But I guess I just got a soft spot in my heart for the Crabb boys.”
I didn’t want a row with her, so making up suited my purpose. “All right then,” I says. “I’m going to leave my brother in your capable hands, Nell, for I have an appointment. I don’t think he should drink any more right now, is all. I think he
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