News of the World: A Novel by Paulette Jiles

matter what side you were on, if you had survived Gettysburg you were to be congratulated. Perhaps he had briefly escorted the man’s mind into the lands of the imagination—far places, crisp ice mountains, falling chimney pots, tropical volcanoes.
    The manager of the Broadway came to him with the Captain’s share of the money. He had made nearly twenty dollars in good U.S. silver. He wadded the sack of coins into his coat pocket. A man went around putting out the candles in the chandeliers with a long-handled snuffer. Inside the Broadway Playhouse it grew darker and darker.
    Captain, said the blond man. He stood up. My name is Almay.
    And these are your friends, said Captain Kidd.
    They are. The blond man put on his hat.
    You followed me from Wichita Falls. I think I saw you at Spanish Fort.
    I have business here and there, said Almay. How much do you want for the girl?
    Captain Kidd stopped stone cold. For a moment, a long moment, he stood expressionless and utterly still. I was wrong. Somebody does want her. He put on his own hat. He settled it carefully on his white hair. He looked down at Almay, several inches shorter. He blinked once, slowly, as he buttoned up his black overcoat. He noted the two Caddos directly behind him.
    Almay said, You know the Army don’t patrol the roads here like they do up on the Red. I could catch you on the road and just take her, you know. But I am being a fair and straightforward man with you. How much?
    The Captain said, I hadn’t settled on a price.
    Or found a buyer.
    No. Nor found a buyer.
    Well, let’s consider it. I’m not close-fisted. I pay for what I want.
    Do you, now?
    Captain Kidd had left the .38 back in the hotel room. It was too big to pack around under the three-button frock coat he wore for readings and it was heavy. Perhaps it was best. The feeling that was at present almost overwhelming him would have led him to draw and shoot the man on the spot. And then where would Johanna be when he was in jail?
    Yes. Tell me the name of anybody who says otherwise.
    I couldn’t be bothered, said Captain Kidd. Of course, I want assurances that the girl will be well treated.
    A bit better than what the Indians did to them, said Almay. His lips flattened out into a strange, stiff smile. At least she’ll get paid for it. Blond girls are premium, premium.
    Do tell. The Captain nodded amiably. His mind was tearingahead like a steam engine into the next hour, the next day. How much ammunition he had, if they knew where he was going, and if they did, if they knew what road he would take.
    He said, I tell you what, Almay. Meet me tomorrow morning at the Tyler Stage Roadhouse at about seven. We’ll work out a price. I did not take in much tonight and I am in need of funds.
    Good. Almay’s eyelids seemed heavy. He had gray eyes and the thick and colorless skin of people from Scandinavia or Russia. He seemed half asleep or he was dreaming of some other world that was not this world, a place fragmented and without illumination.
    THE CAPTAIN TOUCHED his hat to the U.S. Army sergeant in blue at the door, something not many men would have done, and hurried out. The air was damp; condensation sparkled on every surface and lay in a billion dots on the roof shingles. He saw Almay and the Caddos turn north up Trinity and in the opposite direction from his little hotel on Stemmons Ferry Road.
    He walked fast through the unpaved streets to Gannet’s Livery and called out to the oafish stableman, harnessed the roan mare and then backed her into the shafts, settled the collar, hooked up the trace chains, turned the wagon facing out. He changed clothes as fast as he had ever changed in his life. Into the wagon he threw his portfolio and the bag of coins, and wrapped up the remains of their supper in the frying pan. He put his formal black reading clothes and coat over his arm. He stroked Pasha’s neck, wiped the flyspecks out of his eyes, and then tied him on behind. He left the tin pail for the