Paradise Sky

“Quarreled?”

“They did. Big one decided he didn’t want to go with the scarred fellow, and I think it had to do with money.”

“So he don’t think he’s a mud monster so much he can’t worry about money,” I said.

“What’s that?” Cecil said.

I waved it off, saying it wasn’t important.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea where either one of them is now, where they went?”

“The big man’s horse is still here,” the liveryman said, “and he is paid up through the week, so my guess is he’s in town. As for the other, he said he was going out with some cattle drovers, got a job as a cook.”

“Do you know where the drovers was going?”

“To get some cows, I reckon.”

“He told you all this?” I asked.

“Nope. He told the big man. I’m an eavesdropper of the first order. I was also paying attention to them because I didn’t like the condition of their horses. I can’t abide a man that mistreats horse flesh. That’s why I’m telling you about them. I usually keep a tight lip, but anyone that mistreats a horse—rough-rides it, doesn’t feed it, or doesn’t curry it good—they get a special place on my shit list.”

“Do you know where the drovers are going to get those cows?”

“Texas. That’s where they always go. Pretty sure the scarred one said he was going on his own when they reached Texas, or maybe he said before he reached Texas. I was listening in, but I wasn’t writing it down.”

“If I tell you the hotel where I’m staying and promise you a full dollar for letting me know if the big man comes for his horse, will you do it?”

“I will,” he said.

I thanked Cecil for the information and how well he was treating my horse, then decided my next step was to find Golem. Golem was an odd duck and hard to figure, but my first thought was he might be at the saloon. I started over to the Long Branch, as it stayed open pretty much around the clock due to all the cowboys that passed through town at all hours. If Golem was there, even without a gun, he would be a handful, but I needed to know if he was still in town and where he was. If he saw me, things could go south quick, so I was thinking how I might just peek in the saloon then slide out and figure from there. I hoped I could hold my anger back enough to be sensible.

I was crossing the street, considering on all this, when who should I see coming out of it but Bronco Bob. He was heading my way. He hadn’t put on fresh clothes. His hair was matted where it hung down from under his hat, and his beard was so tangled an owl could have nested inside it.

He seen me, and I noticed he was taking some time to look me over before deciding I was in fact Nat Love with a haircut and a shave. When he was satisfied it was me, he come to me with his hands waving. “Nat. What a set of ears. And with that shirt, you look like a robin redbreast.”

“Thanks for noticing the ears,” I said. “I never do.”

“Nothing by it, Nat. They are manly. I want to tell you something. I’m worried about Kid Red.”

“Who?”

“Red. We got to drinking, and he got to drinking more, and he played cards and had a knack for it, and by the time I cut him off from my money he had gambling money of his own. He got really drunk, and the boys in the Long Branch started calling him Kid Red on account of his hair, and by early this morning he was so drunk you could have laid cucumbers on him and they would have pickled. He borrowed some fellow’s horse and a rope, roped that ca

“Goddamn it, Bronco, he shouldn’t never been allowed a drink. He’s just now learning how to eat food. That’s why I don’t drink, all that kind of foolishness.”

“You may have a point there, Nat.”

We went over to the jail. The town marshal was a fellow named Deger. He was built near in the shape of a box and had a mustache like a resting caterpillar. He said the kid was in the back and had thrown up all over the cell. A man he was sharing it with took to beating him so bad they had to pull the kid out and put him in a cell by himself, which was not a thing they liked to do, their jail being stuffed pretty tight with troublemakers and drunks.

“It was pretty fu

“He’s never been drunk before,” I said.

“That’s true, Marshal,” Bronco Bob said. “I gave him his first taste of liquor.”

“He looks mighty young,” said the marshal.

“He’s nineteen,” Bronco Bob said, lying with an authority so strong I damn near believed him.

“Well,” Deger said, “he damn sure put a wet one on.”

The short version was Bronco Bob paid a bit of money, and the sheriff went back and got Red, or Kid Red, as he had been called by the saloon boys. He had his pants on, and we pulled his boots on him, and we hauled him out of there. Pretty much toting him by the arms, we took him to the hotel where I was staying. Bronco Bob got himself a room, having spent the previous night in saloons, mostly the Long Branch, and in a bordello, where he had met what he referred to as a temporary fiancée.

“She was a honey,” said Bronco Bob. “I told her I would take her away and make her my wife, and it seemed like a hell of a good idea at the time. But when I woke up this morning and realized what I said, on sober reflection I decided against it. I snuck out while she was asleep. That’s when I realized I had lost Red somewhere. I found out about him when I went over to the Long Branch.”

I had some coffee sent up, a whole pot, and we went to work having Red drink it. It took another pot to get Red so he could at least uncross his eyes. He had taken a pretty good beating in his cell. He had a knot on his forehead, both eyes was blacked, and his lip was cut open. The jacket Bronco Bob had given him was stained up, and his shirt was torn. When we pulled off his boots, we found the derringer in one of them. He had either forgotten to check it or had chosen not to. I was surprised it hadn’t been discovered when he was arrested, him having pulled his boots off and all.

“Good thing he forgot about that,” I said. “Or someone might have gotten shot.”

“I would agree with that,” Bronco Bob said.

The coffee may have uncrossed his eyes, but it didn’t do much else, so we finally stretched him out on my bed and took ourselves downstairs to have a meal. I was eyed a little uncomfortably, but people in Dodge didn’t want to insult someone who might be part of a team of drovers and free with money and had friends with pistols, so I was let in without incident. We was put at a table in the back, so as to keep my colored face from shining too bright near the front door. Still, for me, it was a real change being able to eat with everyone else. I enjoyed it.

Bronco Bob, being better-heeled for money than I was, ordered us both steaks and taters and bread. He ordered himself a warm beer and me a warm sarsaparilla, there not being any ice on hand.

“I take credit for foolish choices,” Bronco Bob said. “I thought a boy that hadn’t never done anything and had lived from hand to mouth might deserve a good night on the town. It got out of hand.”

“I’ll say.”

We ate a few bites, and I said, “Golem is in town, and Ruggert is headed toward Texas.”

Bronco Bob paused a fried potato on its way to his mouth, said, “Where’d you learn that?”

I told him.

“Do you know where Golem is exactly?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “I was going to start the search when I come across you.”

“Without a gun, you will have hell to pay,” Bronco Bob said.