by Tanya Moir
Some kind, the sheriff said. Some kind. Same kind maybe as thinks no harm’s gonna come from takin Mary Ellen Givens dancin.
The Kid pushed himself back from the bars. He turned and took three steps and sat on the edge of the cot and after that he had nowhere to go. He looked at the yellow candlesticks again. They had some kind of flowers in a twist at the top and their stems were ridged like the chamber of a gun.
They solid gold?
The sheriff raised his head from his notebook and looked at the candlesticks too. Reckon so, he said.
They sure are pretty things.
That they are.
Can I touch one?
The sheriff looked at the Kid.
I’m gonna be payin for em long enough aint I, said the Kid. I reckon I ought to put a hand on one at least.
The sheriff dropped his feet to the floor. He looked at the Kid again. His hand closed around the shaft of the candlestick closest to him and hefted it and the Kid could see the work of it in his neck and arm but he shifted his grip and carried the candlestick casually and without haste towards the cell and the Kid got up from the cot and put his forehead against the bars and watched the candlestick coming.
The sheriff stopped just out of arm’s reach. You wouldn’t be fixin to hit me over the head with this thing and take my keys now would you son?
Nossir.
You sure about that?
I swear it.
Okay then. Here you are.
He swung the candlestick towards the Kid and the Kid caught the other end of the shaft and it dragged his shoulder down and he blew out his breath through his teeth.
Solid gold, he said. Well I guess there’s good money in judgin folks.
There’s most everthin in it, the sheriff said, dependin on how you go about it.
The Kid turned the candlestick on its side and balanced it across his palms. How much you reckon they weigh?
Between the two of em, son? The sheriff shook his head. I’d say just about enough to hang you.
No, said Alicia. Leave it. Go home. Bad dogs.
Her voice came louder through the gap in the rocks.
Kitty kitty kitty?
The dogs from the Green Camo Hut weren’t the brightest dogs in the world or they would have found their way in from the other side of the rocks by now but they still weren’t going away and neither was Alicia. There were sounds of a scuffle below and the volume of whining and panting and scrabbling fell and when Alicia’s voice came again it was further away and she sounded short of breath.
It’s okay, she said. You can come out now. You’ll be safe. I’ve got them.
Winstone thought about coming out. With his hands up maybe. He wondered what he’d say to Alicia and what she’d say back and what they’d do after that. He thought of them standing there face to face. Close up. He thought that maybe he could be from a hut on the other side of the dam and maybe Alicia would like to play cowboys with him but he knew she wouldn’t because she was too old for that. He wondered how long it had been since he’d talked to another kid or anybody at all and then he remembered exactly when it had been and he thought about Todd and Debbie and the last things they’d said and he stayed right where he was.
One of the dogs got sick of whining and started to bark. It was a crazy high-pitched kind of yap and Winstone listened to it echo over the range.
Come on, Alicia said and she sounded like she was working hard, I’m going to take you home. The kitty’s never going to come out with you two here.
What’s going on?
It was a man’s voice and it sounded rough as Bic’s the Sunday morning after a Saturday night and about as pleased to be conscious.
Nothing, Alicia said. She sounded nervous. I was just playing, she said.
The man whistled the dogs, which meant Alicia had to let go of them, and sure enough in a few seconds more the dogs were back in their original spot at the base of the rocks looking up at Winstone. It also meant that the man was the man from the Green Camo Hut and Alicia was right to be nervous.
They got a rabbit in there, said the man from the Green Camo Hut.
Alicia didn’t say anything. So she knew about feral cats then.
You should leave them to it, said the man from the Green Camo Hut. They’re doing their job.
The dogs scrabbled some more. They seemed even keener now.
Are you going to shoot it? Alicia said.
If they flush it out, said the man from the Green Camo Hut. Place is crawling with rabbits, he said.
Don’t, Alicia said. Please.
For a while there was just the noise of the dogs.
What if it isn’t a rabbit? Alicia said.
Look, said the man from the Green Camo Hut, why don’t you go play somewhere else.
Winstone waited but nobody said anything more. He waited for a while. He thought that Alicia must have gone away and he wished he could see what was going on but it seemed like asking for trouble to move. The man from the Green Camo Hut was a pretty good shot. Winstone was almost sure he wouldn’t fire into the rocks because of the ricochets and the dogs but the first thing to show clear of them was going to be in trouble.
Winstone was only a little bit scared. He’d played this scene so many times he felt almost at home holed up in the rocks with Sheriff Pat Garrett and deputies staking him out, and although Garrett’s gun wasn’t usually real on the upside this Garrett didn’t know he had Billy in there and maybe didn’t know even who Billy was or the price on his head and had never heard that name. He was just huntin rabbits. Varmints, that’s what some crazy old man in a hat would have said. And the man from the Green Camo Hut was right, the place was crawling with those. He wasn’t going to wait all morning to shoot one.
The dogs were starting to quieten down and some time soon the man from the Green Camo Hut would move off and the only problem would be how to tell when he had and also the little bit of Winstone that was scared was making him want to pee quite badly.
Some time passed. It passed with only the sound of the wind and Winstone tried counting heartbeats but they seemed an unreliable guide so he tapped out seconds, one index finger against each cheek, and got to sixty and started again until he lost track of how many times he’d done it. It occurred to him that if he peed down through the rocks he’d soon find out if the dogs were still there but the man from the Green Camo Hut would most likely be too far away to see it and anyway it was getting so he didn’t have much of a choice. Winstone started to move.
Jacko, somebody called out.
Gidday Ron, said the man from the Green Camo Hut who by the sounds of things was right under Winstone’s rock. What’s up?
There was a bark and then the dogs got back from wherever they’d been and Winstone heard them fussing about and no doubt jumping all over Ron.
Looks like it might cut up rough later on, Ron said.
Yeah, said Jacko the man from the Green Camo Hut, meaning what the hell do you want.
Mate, said Ron, could you help me out? All hell’s broken loose at my place. My granddaughter’s bawling her eyes out because she thinks you’re going to shoot a kitten.
A kitten, said Jacko.
She thinks there’s one hiding in there, Ron said. She thinks she saw it run in.
Nah, Jacko said. It would’ve been a rabbit. Baby one probably.
That’s what I said, said Ron. Thing is she’s not too keen on you shooting that either.
The wind gusted around the rocks.
She up from town? Jacko said.
Headed back tomorrow, said Ron.
Erroll’s not up this weekend is he? Jacko said after a while.
No, Ron said. It wouldn’t be theirs.
I’ve told him, said Jacko. He’s a bloody idiot bringing that cat up here.
They’ve got a bell on it, Ron said.
Nobody spoke for a while.
Could’ve been a feral she saw, Jacko said.
Yeah, said Ron. Could’ve been.
I’ll have a word to Grizz, Jacko said. Tell him he might want to put out some traps.
Wind’s coming round, said Ron.
Yeah, Jacko said.
You headed back down?
May as well. Jacko gave a long stretching yawn and followed it up with a belch. I was having shit-all luck shooting the bugger anyway.
The next Winstone heard of him was a whistle from away down the slope and Winstone rocked backwards and forwards counting the times and got to thirty and pissed quietly into the rocks and when he’d finished he closed his eyes and breathed in and out and felt as good as he’d felt in a while and maybe ever.
He looked out and Ron was already out of sight and Jacko was halfway down the hill with the dogs behind him. Winstone waited a bit longer but not too long in case Alicia came back to see if the kitten was okay. Then he climbed up and through the rocks and crawled out on the other side and looked around him. All clear. He started to scramble commando-style towards the edge of the tor but there was a speargrass clump in the way and he had to get up. Slowly he raised his head above the last rock.
The air split. Fifteen metres ahead of him on the open slope a rabbit twisted out of the grass and screwed left and that was the last thing it did. The crack of the shotgun was still rolling around the range and Winstone hadn’t finished working out if he was alive and the dogs were already there. The wind snapped west and pushed down the smell of green meat. Winstone turned around and crawled back into his hole.
THE KID LAY on his back on the cot looking up at the jailhouse window. The sky was picked clean by the wind and in the square of night he could see there were stars and they looked ragged and unfriendly. He could hear the wind in the yard outside and the wind up under the eaves and a loose shutter bang against a wall in no particular rhythm. The shutter banged and a dog barked up and a voice yelled out at the dog to hush and the shutter banged again and whatever else might be happening in Granville that night the wind blew clear away.
A gust came in through the office door and the sheriff followed it in and bolted the door behind him. He took off his hat and laid it down on the desk and wiped the sting of the wind from his face with his bandana. Phew, he said. It’s blowin tonight.
Hey sheriff, the Kid said.
What is it son?
You know if somebody fed my horse?
I daresay they did. Johnsons’ll take good care of him, don’t you worry.
Maybe you could check, the Kid said.
Well maybe I could. Maybe next time I go out I might swing by there.
I’d appreciate that.
The sheriff walked over to the stove and took a rag from the nail above the stove and wrapped it around the pot and poured himself a cup of coffee. You know, he said, Judge Givens’ boys are out there combing the country for your friend. I don’t suppose you could tell me where to find him.
What friend? the Kid said.
The sheriff sipped his coffee. The one you were roomin with son. The one everbody in town saw you ride in with.
He aint a friend, the Kid said. Just a man I met on the road is all. Figured since we was both stoppin off we may as well share expenses.
That right, the sheriff said. Well maybe he aint that good of a friend. He sure did make himself scarce pretty fast. Then again I caint say as I blame him.
The Kid sat up on the cot and picked at the toe of his boot. What does the judge want with him anyway? He aint done a thing to nobody.
Same way you aint?
The Kid was silent.
Well I guess Eli’s concerned for his character, the sheriff said. The judge don’t like the company he keeps.
The sheriff looked over the rim of his coffee cup at the Kid and his cheeks glowed with the wind and the stove and the light of the lamp on the desk and the light of the lamp glinted in his eye. Behind him the Kid’s six-shooter hung on the wall.
Bang bang bang went the door but the knock upon it was light and sweet and the sheriff put down his coffee without alarm. He crossed the office and stood square in front of the door and looked through the peephole into the dark and the wind and then he slid back the bolt and opened the door.
Miss Mary Ellen, the sheriff said and he stood aside to let her in. Your daddy know you’re here?
No, Cooper said and his gun barrel gleamed in the dark below her jaw. Miss Mary Ellen’s with me tonight.
She stepped in through the door neck stretched and eyes darting back like a spooked-up horse.
Easy now, Cooper said and he kicked the door to behind them.
I’m guessin we found your friend, the sheriff said to the Kid, but he didn’t take his eyes off the gun on Mary Ellen.
Drop your weapon, Cooper said.
The sheriff unbuckled his gun belt and let it fall to the floor. Cooper inclined his head to the left and the sheriff slid the belt that way with his foot and whether by accident or device the belt stopped midway between them. It lay there on the boards with the leather caught up in itself and the pearl grips of the sheriff’s twin Colts glowing yellow and red in the lamplight.
The point of Cooper’s pistol pressed into Mary Ellen’s throat and his finger was on the trigger. He had hold of her other arm behind her back and with Mary Ellen curved over his heart he moved into the room real slow. Pick it up, he said.
He let go of her arm and Mary Ellen bent her knees and sank to the floor and Cooper’s gun sank with her and kept her chin up and her back braced straight as a poker.
By the leather, Cooper said. Use both hands.
Mary Ellen picked up the belt. She held it there across her knees with a .45 hanging off to each side and Cooper told her to get up and she did and she still hadn’t looked at the Kid who stood watching the three of them go about their slow-motion play through the shadowed frame of his cell.
Cooper reached around her and took a gun from the holster with his left hand and opened the chamber and emptied it and reached for the other gun and emptied it too and the sheriff’s bullets rang on the boards at Cooper’s feet like so many nails in a coffin.
Throw him the keys, Cooper said, and the sheriff’s big iron key ring arced through the light and the dark and the Kid caught it neat as neat in one hand and in two seconds more he was free and standing at Cooper’s side and buckling on his gun belt.
The sheriff shook his head. Boys, he said, you better hope I catch you before Eli Givens does.
The Kid pulled out his gun and spun it around in his hand as if checking its character had not changed and then he held it on the sheriff. What do we do with him? he said to Coop. They looked at each other and they looked at the sheriff and they looked for a long time.
The palomino’s head tossed and the reins were in the Kid’s hand as he vaulted into the saddle. The Kid and Cooper hit the main street of Granville abreast and they rode it at a thunder. The wind snatched at their heels and their hats and the tumbleweeds raced and they outrode the weeds and the wind and the town and the grey was no less swift or sure of foot for the extra burden he was bearing.
On Granville’s empty street the sheriff’s door remained locked and the lamps in his office went on burning. In the yard behind the office the wind blew and the shutter banged. Inside, the light of the lamps spilled over the floorboards undisturbed and beyond its circle the sheriff lay trussed and fuming behind the bars of his own cell.
Cooper’s hands reached up and closed around Mary Ellen’s waist and he lifted her down from his saddle. On the sandy floor of the canyon pale in the moonlight she stood looking at them with her chin held high and her hair was whipped and wild and her eyes were lost in shadow.
It’s okay, the Kid said. He stood square to Coop and his feet were spread and his right hand was braced at his thigh. You can let her go now Coop.
Go, said Coop and it wasn’t too dark to see him smile. Now what do you think Miss Mary E? Should I let you run back to your daddy?
Mary Ellen swept her hair back. What do I think? she said. Well Mr Cooper I guess I think it’
s about time you and your friend stopped standin there and got us up a fire and some coffee.
Behind the Kid’s boots the fire sparked up the night and the crickets sang in the blue and he let the armload of wood he’d fetched tumble down and across the fire Cooper spoke and his voice was easy.
Well the Kid here bought it, Cooper said. Let’s hope your friend the sheriff did too.
The light of the fire shone in Mary Ellen’s brown hair. We got away didn’t we, she said.
We sure did, Cooper said and he tossed the dregs of his coffee into the embers. We sure did.
The Kid eased himself down onto the ground at Mary Ellen’s side and stretched out and propped himself up on his arm. Her hands were folded around her coffee cup and he watched them there. Weren’t you scared? he said.
No, she said and he looked up at her face and she was already looking at him and it seemed like she might have been looking at him for a while but at that moment she turned away and spoke to Cooper across the fire. Well maybe I was a little scared, she said, in case Roy tried to shoot you.
That’s mighty kind of you, Cooper said.
Not really, Mary Ellen said. I figured he’d most likely hit me instead. But after we got Roy’s guns I was okay.
Cooper nodded. He tipped up the brim of his hat with his thumb and from that improved perspective took in the rocks around and the sky above them. You sure your daddy’s men won’t search for us here?
They don’t know this place, Mary Ellen said. We’re on old man Jackson’s land. Nobody rides up here on account of he’ll shoot em.
Well that makes me feel a whole lot better Miss Mary E, Cooper said.
I’ll take the first watch, the Kid said.
That seems fair, Cooper said, since you aint done nothin else all day. Be sure and do a better job of it than you did of goin to check on the horses.
He untied his saddle roll and shook his blanket out and settled under it with his head on the saddle and his boots to the fire and his hat down over his eyes.
Here, the Kid said, and he set the palomino’s saddle behind Mary Ellen and got out his blanket and gave it to her and as she took it her hand brushed his and she didn’t move it away.