The Thicket by Joe R. Lansdale Page B

her carried away, and maybe never to be found. So why would we follow this other fellow? It doesn’t make sense.”
    “We would be wise to find the person who would most likely know where they are going,” Shorty said. “And that would be the man who has ridden away on his lonesome. One is easier to handle than several. It would not surprise me to discover that he has gone to No Enterprise for supplies. Sending one man would be smarter than all of them going. But his intent for riding into No Enterprise is not a matter of concern; catching up with him is.”
    “And what if he isn’t going into No Enterprise?” I said.
    “Then that will be a new concern,” Shorty said.
    “Horse he’s riding, one they took off that kid?” Eustace said. “It’s got a nick in its shoe. I can follow the track clear, and when we catch up with him we can talk to him, see what he knows.”
    “You can’t figure out how to track the others?” I said.
    “I might could glance about and poke around till some sign showed up,” Eustace said. “That could come quick or not at all. And if it rains, or there’s lots of horses and wagons come this way, the tracks we got and know belong to one of them fellas could get lost. We could end up with nothing in our sack. A bird in hand is better than two in the bush.”
    I sat on the horse, bewildered.
    Shorty said, “This is not like a Nick Carter story, son. We do not always find a red feather in a cow plop that shows us the way. Mostly we stumble along until we find them. And if we only get one of them, which we have an opportunity to do, we pistol-whip the shit out of him until he reveals to us what we want to know. Which in this case would be where they have taken your sister.”
    I nodded, feeling numb all over. I had been raised to live and let live, to forgive and forget, but I couldn’t forget. There was a burning part of me that wanted a gun in my hand. Not just for protection, but to kill. That scared me. It made me feel as if I was no different than one of Cut Throat’s gang—a package of sweaty flesh full of bile for blood, dynamite for bones, and horse manure for brains. I thought about how my father would only give me four shells for squirrel hunting so I wouldn’t chase the urge to shoot at will. “A gun is a tool,” he used to say. “And you don’t need to get so you don’t want to stop pulling the trigger.”
    The situation left to us was to follow the boy’s horse—the one that had been stolen—and even as we discussed it we were riding in that direction, our minds actually made up. Eustace, watching the trail, rode ahead of me and Shorty. As he went, Hog came out of the woods and ran alongside Eustace’s horse as if he had been there all along and didn’t want Eustace to know he had been wandering. I speculated on the possibility that he had in fact eaten that poor boy, or at least part of him. It was a horrible thing to think about, that boy’s flesh bouncing around inside Hog’s belly.
    “My guess is our bad man is surely going into No Enterprise and will not veer,” Shorty said. “He has some bank money, and most likely will want to spend some of it on drink and a woman and whatever is provided in the way of entertainment. I have been to No Enterprise on many occasions myself, and know that for such a small place it is quite lively and deadly, which is another reason he chose it. It does not cater to the less-than-bold, and it is not a town full of idle talkers, even if they suspect you have killed a pack of women and diddled a sheep on the steps of the Baptist church. They pretty much keep it to themselves and consider it your business, as long as the women are not theirs. Or the sheep.”
    “What if the bandits have all the supplies they need?” I said. “Why would he leave the others? Maybe he’s split with them over something, and doesn’t know where they’re going.”
    “Perhaps that is the case, but perhaps he is the one who was shot—Cut