waited.
Robert Griffin was polishing the hearse in the barn behind his shop when he saw Jessup go into his office. He hurried back, and stepping inside, saw that Jessup had wandered into the embalming room, where he was standing by the table.
“Is there something I can do for you, Major Jessup?” Robert Griffin asked.
Jessup pointed to the table. It was covered with galvanized tin, and slanted at a slight angle toward a catch basin. There was a pole to one side of the table, with a tube hanging down from it.
“Is this where you embalm the bodies?” Jessup asked.
“Yes.”
“So before you start, do you take all the blood from the body?”
“As much as possible,” Robert Griffin answered. “One can never get it all. Major Jessup, could we go up to the front office?”
“Why? You don’t have any bodies back here now,” Jessup said.
“No, I don’t.”
Jessup looked at one of the tubes, and at a small valve. “The stuff that you put in them, the embalming flood, it comes down through this tube?”
“Yes,” Robert Griffin said impatiently. “Major Jessup,please, I don’t like people back here. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, I’m here to pick up Shorty,” Jessup answered. He nodded toward the front of the building. “I figure the town has had a chance to see what they did in killing a fine young man. I want you to close his coffin and let my men load him on the wagon. We’re shipping him home today.”
“Yes, sir,” Robert Griffin replied. He didn’t add, but he thought, Thank God . Although having the cowboy’s body on display in the front window of the hardware store had been good advertising for how well he could make a body look, he was ready for it to be taken away.
Concluding his business, Jessup stepped back outside. Deekus and Arnie were waiting in the wagon parked just in front of the hardware store. They were watching a young woman who was walking along the board sidewalk. As they watched, they carried on an unsubtle conversation about her.
“What do you reckon a pretty young woman like that is doing downtown all by herself?” Deekus asked.
“I don’t know. If I had a filly like that, I’d keep her chained to the bed,” Arnie replied.
“Hell, I’d keep her chained to me and the bed,” Deekus said, and both men laughed, loudly.
The young woman, obviously able to hear what they were saying, blushed, and lifted her skirt high enough to allow her to walk more quickly.
“Deekus, Arnie,” Jessup said.
Neither man had heard Jessup return, but they turned toward him at the sound of his voice.
“Yes, Major?” Deekus said.
“Get Shorty in the wagon and take him down to the depot.” He gave Deekus a piece of paper. “This is the bill of lading. Give it to the freight master. Shorty’s passage has already been paid for.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you’re all finished there, come down to the Hog Lot Saloon. I’ll buy the drinks.”
“Yes, sir!” both Deekus and Arnie answered enthusiastically.
Bob Gary, still wearing the sling from his encounter with Shorty, moved down to the end of the bar where Jessup was standing.
“Yes, sir, can I help you?”
“You the fella that Shorty shot the other day?” Jessup asked.
“I am.”
“I’m Clint Jessup, owner of the Bar-J. Shorty McDougal rode for me.”
“Yes, sir, Major Jessup, I know who you are,” Bob said. “I remember you from last year.”
“I apologize for you being shot.”
“No need for you to apologize,” Bob said. “You didn’t shoot me, and the man who did do it is dead.”
“Yes,” Jessup said. “Killed by your piano player, I’m told.”
“Don’t let Hawke hear you say that,” Bob said. “He’s some kind of particular about what folks call him. He likes to be called a pianist.”
“A pianist? Isn’t that what you call someone with concert training?”
“I reckon it is.”
“That’s sort of taking on airs, isn’t it? I mean somebody who plays piano in
Robert Griffin was polishing the hearse in the barn behind his shop when he saw Jessup go into his office. He hurried back, and stepping inside, saw that Jessup had wandered into the embalming room, where he was standing by the table.
“Is there something I can do for you, Major Jessup?” Robert Griffin asked.
Jessup pointed to the table. It was covered with galvanized tin, and slanted at a slight angle toward a catch basin. There was a pole to one side of the table, with a tube hanging down from it.
“Is this where you embalm the bodies?” Jessup asked.
“Yes.”
“So before you start, do you take all the blood from the body?”
“As much as possible,” Robert Griffin answered. “One can never get it all. Major Jessup, could we go up to the front office?”
“Why? You don’t have any bodies back here now,” Jessup said.
“No, I don’t.”
Jessup looked at one of the tubes, and at a small valve. “The stuff that you put in them, the embalming flood, it comes down through this tube?”
“Yes,” Robert Griffin said impatiently. “Major Jessup,please, I don’t like people back here. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, I’m here to pick up Shorty,” Jessup answered. He nodded toward the front of the building. “I figure the town has had a chance to see what they did in killing a fine young man. I want you to close his coffin and let my men load him on the wagon. We’re shipping him home today.”
“Yes, sir,” Robert Griffin replied. He didn’t add, but he thought, Thank God . Although having the cowboy’s body on display in the front window of the hardware store had been good advertising for how well he could make a body look, he was ready for it to be taken away.
Concluding his business, Jessup stepped back outside. Deekus and Arnie were waiting in the wagon parked just in front of the hardware store. They were watching a young woman who was walking along the board sidewalk. As they watched, they carried on an unsubtle conversation about her.
“What do you reckon a pretty young woman like that is doing downtown all by herself?” Deekus asked.
“I don’t know. If I had a filly like that, I’d keep her chained to the bed,” Arnie replied.
“Hell, I’d keep her chained to me and the bed,” Deekus said, and both men laughed, loudly.
The young woman, obviously able to hear what they were saying, blushed, and lifted her skirt high enough to allow her to walk more quickly.
“Deekus, Arnie,” Jessup said.
Neither man had heard Jessup return, but they turned toward him at the sound of his voice.
“Yes, Major?” Deekus said.
“Get Shorty in the wagon and take him down to the depot.” He gave Deekus a piece of paper. “This is the bill of lading. Give it to the freight master. Shorty’s passage has already been paid for.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you’re all finished there, come down to the Hog Lot Saloon. I’ll buy the drinks.”
“Yes, sir!” both Deekus and Arnie answered enthusiastically.
Bob Gary, still wearing the sling from his encounter with Shorty, moved down to the end of the bar where Jessup was standing.
“Yes, sir, can I help you?”
“You the fella that Shorty shot the other day?” Jessup asked.
“I am.”
“I’m Clint Jessup, owner of the Bar-J. Shorty McDougal rode for me.”
“Yes, sir, Major Jessup, I know who you are,” Bob said. “I remember you from last year.”
“I apologize for you being shot.”
“No need for you to apologize,” Bob said. “You didn’t shoot me, and the man who did do it is dead.”
“Yes,” Jessup said. “Killed by your piano player, I’m told.”
“Don’t let Hawke hear you say that,” Bob said. “He’s some kind of particular about what folks call him. He likes to be called a pianist.”
“A pianist? Isn’t that what you call someone with concert training?”
“I reckon it is.”
“That’s sort of taking on airs, isn’t it? I mean somebody who plays piano in
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