The Last Good Day, стр. 9

“No.”

“Me neither. Think Travers is still alive?”

“No telling.”

“No matter, it would be his estate that’s liable regardless,” B.W. said.

“Yeah, kind of leaves us with a choice, don’t it,” Rance said. “Don’t have nothin’ else to do.”

“May not do any good,” B.W. said. “But we won’t know if we don’t try.”

“True,” Rance said. “Let’s think on it. I found four bottles of whiskey in a cabinet. Put ‘em in my saddle bags. Think you would know when to stop if I let you have some?”

“I’ll force myself,” B.W. said.

“I’ll get it,” Rance said.

B.W. cracked the breech of the twelve-gauge, loaded two shells, eased the barrels shut and sat down on the floor facing the front door. He laid the Henry beside his leg, leaned against a fallen shelf and placed the shotgun across his lap. Two rats ran out from behind the shelves and scampered across the floor, disappearing in a corner piled up with clothes. B.W. stuffed his pants in his boots. The roar of thunder rumbled across the sky and lightning flashed through the cracks in the walls as the rain began a steady tap on the tin roof.

Rance brought a bottle of whiskey back, sat it down beside B.W., took the cap off and handed it to B.W. He lifted the bottle to his lips, titled it back and began to sallow in big gulps. Like a baby with a milk bottle. Rance reached up and took the bottle out of his hand.

“That’s it for now,” Rance said and stood up with the bottle.

“That was just enough to make me want more,” B.W. said.

“I could see that. Why I took it away.”

“Anyone else do that I would beat the hell out of them.”

“Think you could, huh? Looks like whiskey brings your temper out,” Rance said and walked away.

6

The next morning, sunshine was warming a clear April sky. They filled their canteens and put canned food in their saddle bags. B.W. tied the loaded double-barrel to his saddle and put three boxes of buckshot in the saddle bags. He stuck a wooden cross in the ground on Catching’s grave, removed the feather from his old hat and sat the hat on top of the cross. He placed the feather in the band of his new black hat, brushed his long braided black hair back and set the hat on his head, twisted it a little to the left, pushing it down on his head, and climbed up in the saddle.

Rance rode by the corral behind the store and opened the gate, flushing the two horses out and watched them run across a field. Tommy rode up beside him.

“Think they’ll be okay?” Tommy asked.

“Be fine, they’ll have plenty of grass and water out there,” Rance said.

“How you like my new black hat and boots?” Tommy said, shaking his foot at Rance.

Rance pushed his new black hat back on his head. “We look like the Three Musketeers,” Rance

said.

“The who?” Tommy asked.

“Never mind,” Rance said. “I’ll tell you later.”

B.W. rode up beside Rance. “You get the whiskey, major?”

“I did,” Rance said. “Belongs to me.”

“You may need somethin’ for the pain,” B.W. said.

Rance grinned. “You might too,” he said and they rode away.

A short time later, Tommy rode up beside B.W. and Rance. “I been thinkin,’ where do you think them riders went after they hung the colored folks?”

“Hard to say,” B.W. said. “The tracks looks like they’re headed the same way we’ve been. Might be the ones that killed old man Catching too. But could have been anybody made them tracks.”

“Suits me if they went their way and we go ours,” Rance said.

“You mean you don’t care that they hung those people and killed Mr. Catching?” Tommy asked.

“No, but I don’t want us to be next either,” Rance said. “Sometimes it’s not what you do but what you don’t that’s the right thing.”

“That right, B.W.?” Tommy said.

“Don’t know,” B.W. said. “Think the major is saying we should mind our own business.”

“Something like that,” Rance said. “Could back ourselves into a corner we can’t get out of.”

“Is that what you think, B.W.?” Tommy said.

“Best to let whatever happens happen. Don’t worry too much about it ‘fore it does,” B.W. said.

“That doesn’t always work,” Rance said. “Need to plan before jumping in the fire. If you can’t come up with a plan, don’t do it. Learned that at West Point.”

“Usually go by my gut feeling,” B.W. said. “Been right so far.”

“You been lucky,” Rance said.

“Maybe.”

A couple hours later, they stopped on a hill and looked down into a valley at a small town.

“What’s that place?” Tommy said.

“Wheeler, I think,” Rance said. “A rebel stronghold durin’ the war. Union never really took control of it. This part of Virginia was mixed. Never knew who was on your side. Might be best to go around and go on to Milberg, considerin’ what happened at the last place.”

“What we going to do in Milberg?” Tommy said.

“The major wanted to visit his family’s graves,” B.W. said.

“Then what?” Tommy said.

“Then what, major?” B.W. asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Rance said.

“Think I hooked up with the wrong people,” Tommy said.

“Probably did,” B.W. said. “You can’t go back, though, they’d hang you.”

Tommy rubbed his neck and swallowed hard.

“Need somethin’ solid to eat, like a steak,” B.W. said. “Before I try to do any serious thinking.”

Rance nodded in agreement.

The dirt streets had turned to a muddy mess from the rain. Two men in Confederate uniforms were thrashing around in the mud, holding a bottle in one hand and firing a pistol into the air with the other, yelling, “We got him!” Loud music and laughter were coming from the saloons. It was the middle of the afternoon.

“They’re celebratin’ something awful early in the day,” B.W. said. “Wonder if they know they lost the war.”

“We won’t tell ‘em,” Rance said. “This Looks like one of those places you shouldn’t be to me,” Rance said.

B.W. nodded. “Does. Let’s go