backside to a shady section of sidewalk. "They don't give out
soup all day long, y'know."
"In that case I won't keep you. Just wanted to mention—you
know that seven hundred dollars' worth of dust you gave me?"
"It rings a bell."
"Well, would you believe it? Last night I tripled it with
three jacks and a pair of queens."
"You don't say. Well, that brings tears o' joy to my eyes,
Mr. Gault, it surely does. Now, if you don't mind—" Jesse put a hand on
his arm when he tried to get up. Shrimp froze. "No offense," he
blurted. "I'll sit here an' jaw all day if you want, no problem
whatsoever. It ain't like I've got anything else to—"
"So the way I figure it, you're like my good-luck charm, Mr.
Malone."
"I am?"
"Now, I'm the kind of fellow who pays people back. Know what
I mean?"
"Uh..."
"Somebody does something bad, wrongs me in any way, I'm
inclined to shoot him. Or wound him, leastways—sometimes a good maiming's
better than an outright killing, you know?"
"Heh heh."
"Same thing if a man does me a good turn."
Shrimp started to scoot sideways. "You shoot him?"
"No, you idiot. I pay him back."
"Oh." His little pig eyes lit up. "You do?"
"Course, it'd have to be a secret between you and me."
"Sure, sure. Sure. How come?"
"How come! Because I got a reputation to think about. What
would happen if it got around that I was donating to the poor and the infirm?
Somebody might say I was soft, and pretty soon somebody else might decide to
call me out. Then I'd have to shoot 'em both, and maybe it wouldn't be
convenient right then. Maybe I wouldn't be in the mood."
"Yeah," Shrimp said thoughtfully. "Yeah, I can see
how that'd be a problem."
Jesse glanced around. The coast was clear. "So— here,"
he said, pulling a wad of bills out of his pocket and stuffing it into the
miner's outstretched paw. "Quick, put it away. Anybody asks where it came
from, make up something good."
"I sure will." Stunned, dazed, Shrimp shoved the money
into his grubby dungarees. The sudden change in his fortunes hadn't sunk in
yet. "Thanks, Mr. Gault, thanks a lot. You're a real—"
"Okay, but keep that quiet, too. Last thing I need is people
hearing somebody thank me."
"Oh, right. Sure, sure."
When they stood up, Jesse had to stop himself from giving the
miner a helping hand. Gault had been saintly enough for one day, and then some.
"Well, so long."
"So long." He didn't move, though. "Uh, Mr.
Gault?"
"What."
"You been a real trump about this, no mistake, and I'm much
obliged—"
"Yeah, yeah. What?"
"Well, I was just wonderin' if by any chance you still got my
ear. And if you do, if you'd consider givin' that back, too."
"Your what?"
"My ear. You know. My ear?" He scowled, incredulous.
"My pig's ear! You done made me give it to you, and ever since then it's a
fact I ain't had nothing but bad luck."
"Oh. Yourear." What had he done with it? Thrown
it out the window, he vaguely remembered. "Sorry, Shrimp, i sent it
to the Wilsons."
"Sent it to who?"
Oops. "The, uh..."
"Weavers?"
"Weavers, Weavers. Sent it to them to prove I'd killed you.
Remember? That was our deal? So then they paid me—which is another reason why I
don't need your piddling seven hundred bucks." He was babbling, but Shrimp
had a brand-new expression on his whiskery, pocked, pug-ugly face:
intelligence. "So I haven't got it. The ear. Sent it to 'em, and they
mailed back my pay right away. Real sweet deal, way I look at it. I don't even
miss killing you. In your way, you're not a bad sombitch. Well, so, good luck,
see you around—"
"What was 'er name?"
"Who?"
"Girl they wanted me to marry. You wouldn't recollect her
name, would you, Mr. Gault?"
"You're joshing me, aren't you? That horse-faced hyena? She
had a name?"
Shrimp looked at the ground, chuckling; the crafty look wavered.
Then he cocked his head to the side. "What town in Coos County they from?
The Weaver boys."
Jesse let go of his grin, let it fade slowly, slowly, like an
unhurried black cloud
soup all day long, y'know."
"In that case I won't keep you. Just wanted to mention—you
know that seven hundred dollars' worth of dust you gave me?"
"It rings a bell."
"Well, would you believe it? Last night I tripled it with
three jacks and a pair of queens."
"You don't say. Well, that brings tears o' joy to my eyes,
Mr. Gault, it surely does. Now, if you don't mind—" Jesse put a hand on
his arm when he tried to get up. Shrimp froze. "No offense," he
blurted. "I'll sit here an' jaw all day if you want, no problem
whatsoever. It ain't like I've got anything else to—"
"So the way I figure it, you're like my good-luck charm, Mr.
Malone."
"I am?"
"Now, I'm the kind of fellow who pays people back. Know what
I mean?"
"Uh..."
"Somebody does something bad, wrongs me in any way, I'm
inclined to shoot him. Or wound him, leastways—sometimes a good maiming's
better than an outright killing, you know?"
"Heh heh."
"Same thing if a man does me a good turn."
Shrimp started to scoot sideways. "You shoot him?"
"No, you idiot. I pay him back."
"Oh." His little pig eyes lit up. "You do?"
"Course, it'd have to be a secret between you and me."
"Sure, sure. Sure. How come?"
"How come! Because I got a reputation to think about. What
would happen if it got around that I was donating to the poor and the infirm?
Somebody might say I was soft, and pretty soon somebody else might decide to
call me out. Then I'd have to shoot 'em both, and maybe it wouldn't be
convenient right then. Maybe I wouldn't be in the mood."
"Yeah," Shrimp said thoughtfully. "Yeah, I can see
how that'd be a problem."
Jesse glanced around. The coast was clear. "So— here,"
he said, pulling a wad of bills out of his pocket and stuffing it into the
miner's outstretched paw. "Quick, put it away. Anybody asks where it came
from, make up something good."
"I sure will." Stunned, dazed, Shrimp shoved the money
into his grubby dungarees. The sudden change in his fortunes hadn't sunk in
yet. "Thanks, Mr. Gault, thanks a lot. You're a real—"
"Okay, but keep that quiet, too. Last thing I need is people
hearing somebody thank me."
"Oh, right. Sure, sure."
When they stood up, Jesse had to stop himself from giving the
miner a helping hand. Gault had been saintly enough for one day, and then some.
"Well, so long."
"So long." He didn't move, though. "Uh, Mr.
Gault?"
"What."
"You been a real trump about this, no mistake, and I'm much
obliged—"
"Yeah, yeah. What?"
"Well, I was just wonderin' if by any chance you still got my
ear. And if you do, if you'd consider givin' that back, too."
"Your what?"
"My ear. You know. My ear?" He scowled, incredulous.
"My pig's ear! You done made me give it to you, and ever since then it's a
fact I ain't had nothing but bad luck."
"Oh. Yourear." What had he done with it? Thrown
it out the window, he vaguely remembered. "Sorry, Shrimp, i sent it
to the Wilsons."
"Sent it to who?"
Oops. "The, uh..."
"Weavers?"
"Weavers, Weavers. Sent it to them to prove I'd killed you.
Remember? That was our deal? So then they paid me—which is another reason why I
don't need your piddling seven hundred bucks." He was babbling, but Shrimp
had a brand-new expression on his whiskery, pocked, pug-ugly face:
intelligence. "So I haven't got it. The ear. Sent it to 'em, and they
mailed back my pay right away. Real sweet deal, way I look at it. I don't even
miss killing you. In your way, you're not a bad sombitch. Well, so, good luck,
see you around—"
"What was 'er name?"
"Who?"
"Girl they wanted me to marry. You wouldn't recollect her
name, would you, Mr. Gault?"
"You're joshing me, aren't you? That horse-faced hyena? She
had a name?"
Shrimp looked at the ground, chuckling; the crafty look wavered.
Then he cocked his head to the side. "What town in Coos County they from?
The Weaver boys."
Jesse let go of his grin, let it fade slowly, slowly, like an
unhurried black cloud
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