True to the Law (4 page)

Walt shifted again, and his eyes darted sideways. “I didn’t mean that. I figured you wouldn’t want to get caught here when winter sets in.”

“You mean this isn’t it?”

Walt’s laughter boomed. “This? A day like this is just a hint. Just a little ol’ hint.”

“Then I’ll consider myself warned.” He touched his hat. “I’ll see you this evening, Walt.”

“You will, Mr. Bridger. I’ll be bringing you your pie.”

* * *

Jefferson Collins found his spectacles on his forehead after looking for them on the counter, under the counter, and in all twelve of the cubbyholes on the wall behind the counter. He slid them down to his nose and regarded his grandsons over the wire rims.

“You knew I was looking for them, didn’t you?”

“I had a suspicion,” said Finn. As soon as he spoke, he lost his rhythm with the three leather beanbags he was trying to juggle. “Shucks.”

“My turn,” said Rabbit.

“That’s not fair. Pap made me miss.”

“It’s fair. He asked a question and you answered and that’s what made you miss. It’s my turn.”

“Boys.” The station agent’s voice was infused with equal parts impatience and affection. He told anyone who asked after his grandsons that they were the light of his life and the bane of his existence. It was not so long ago that they could be mistaken for twins, but Rabbit shot up around the time of his eleventh birthday and it seemed that now he towered over his younger brother. They were both still tow-headed, but Collins could see that Rabbit’s hair was darkening ever so slightly at the roots. Neither of the boys weighed much soaking wet, but there was a contrast between Finn’s sharp angles and Rabbit’s sturdier frame. There was no denying that Rabbit was filling out and growing up.

The station agent was making peace with it. It was the way of things. Finn, though, did not like being left behind. Collins watched his younger grandson make as if he was going to throw the beanbags hard at his brother’s head, but Rabbit flinched, and that apparently was all Finn had been looking for. He tossed them underhand one at a time.

Jeff Collins returned to his perch on the stool behind the station counter and checked his pocket watch. He had receipts to prepare for the crates and packages due to leave Bitter Springs on the next westbound train. He pushed aside the receipt book and set his forearms on the counter, clasping his hands together.

“I haven’t heard yet why you were kept after school, Finn.”

Finn did not look in his grandfather’s direction. He watched Rabbit carefully, willing his brother to miss just one toss. “Didn’t Rabbit tell you?”

“I didn’t ask him. I thought it was your story to tell.”

“Thought he might have told you anyway.”

Not missing a beat, Rabbit said, “I’m not a tattletale.”

“Only since you got to be eleven.” He stole a look at his grandfather. “You want a story or you want the truth?”

“Sometimes they’re the same, but if there is a distinction in your mind, I’d like the truth.”

“Well, the truth is I like talking to Miss Morrow.”

“You do?”

“Uh-huh. She’s nice, and she talks to me like I’m eleven.”

“She does.”

“Yep. Even though she says I shouldn’t be in a hurry to grow up.”

“She’s got that right.”

“Oh, she knows a whole lot of things. I suspect she’s right about most of them. Same as you.”

“I’m right about all of them.”

“Yes, sir. That’s what I meant to say.”

Collins’s mouth twitched. “So I can tell your granny that you were late for afternoon chores because you preferred your teacher’s company.”

Finn frowned deeply. “That’d be the truth,” he said slowly, “but I think Granny would take to a story better. Maybe you could tell her that I had chores to do at school. I will tomorrow. Miss Morrow asked me to help her clean slates, so I’ll be staying after again.”

A beanbag thumped to the floor. “You just made that up,” said Rabbit.

“Did not.” Finn scooped the fallen beanbag off the floor and held out one hand for the other two.

Disgusted, Rabbit dropped them on the floor for Finn to pick up. “Robby Fox and I asked her this morning if there was anything we could do for her after school and she said no.”

“She needs my help tomorrow,” Finn said. “You and Robby just asked too early. She didn’t give me anything special to do today.”

Rabbit put the toe of his shoe on one of the beanbags when Finn stooped to pick it up. “Maybe because you were too busy writing ‘I am surely sorry for making Prissy Taylor squeal like a piglet.’ I bet you misspelled most of the words just so you could keep Miss Morrow busy correcting you.”

Finn tugged on the beanbag and pulled it free. Rabbit promptly stepped on the other one. “So what if I did? She was real kind about it. You just wish you’d thought of giving Prissy’s hair a good yank. Robby Fox probably wishes he did too. You both looked real jealous when Miss Morrow told me to stay. I would have wrote my apology on every slate if she’d asked.” He glanced sideways at his grandfather. “A man’s gotta pay for his pleasure.”

Rabbit set his fists on his hips. “You didn’t even like her when she came to town. You musta told everyone she came here to bedevil you.”

Finn didn’t deny it. “Well, you said it, too, and besides, I changed my mind since then.” He grabbed one corner of the beanbag still held captive beneath Rabbit’s shoe and yanked hard. The stitching gave way as he freed it and dozens of small white beans spilled out. They bounced and rolled across the floor.

Jeff Collins shook his head. “Now, didn’t I just see that coming? Get a broom, boys. And a dustpan. I’m not asking your granny to fix that bag either. About time you two learned your way around a needle and thread.”

Rabbit and Finn glared at each other but neither pointed a finger. Finn placed the two good beanbags on the counter for safekeeping and slunk off behind his brother to get the broom and dustpan in the back room.

The station agent was still shaking his head when the door leading to the train platform opened. He extended his arm, palm out, warning Cobb Bridger when he stepped past the threshold. “Have a care you don’t get beans underfoot. I don’t reckon there’s anything more graceless than a grown man going down on his backside.”

“And few things more amusing.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

Cobb examined the floor for evidence of what caused the mishap. His glance fell on the split leather beanbag and then the two bags on the counter. “Rabbit and Finn are around, I gather.”

“In the back, getting the proper implements for cleaning up.” He sat up and adjusted his spectacles. “What brings you here, Mr. Bridger?”

Cobb carefully picked his way to the counter. He hefted one of the beanbags. “Always surprises me how many beans one of these can hold. Your grandsons are learning to juggle?”

“Rabbit’s got the knack of it. Finn’s learning.”

Nodding, Cobb set the bag down and leaned an elbow on the countertop. The caped shoulder of his duster brushed against the receipt book that Collins had pushed to the side. “I want to send a letter to someone in Chicago. About how long will it take to get there?”

“Well, if it’s speed you’re after, I can send it over the wire. It’d have to be short, though. You pay by the word and every word is dear.”

“No, I prefer a letter for this.”

“Then it would take about three days express train, weather permitting, and upward of six days regular mail coach.”

“That’s faster than I thought.”

“Yes, sir. The country’s shrinking. I hear Montana Territory will be a state soon. Maybe next month. Wyoming can’t be far behind. Seems like the railroad is swallowing us up. Hard to know what speed will bring next. I’m taking deliveries all the time from Chicago and St. Louis. Folks see something in a magazine and they think they got to have it. Even Mrs. Garvin’s ordering from Paris, France.”

Cobb’s eyes narrowed as he tried to place the name. He couldn’t draw it out, but before he asked, Mr. Collins offered the information.

“That’d be the milliner. It’s her older daughter, Millicent, who’s getting hitched. She’s marrying Mr. Irvin. He’s the undertaker. My wife says I shouldn’t be so surprised that Mrs. Garvin is ordering from Paris, France, but then she doesn’t have much of a head for geography and the notion of distance.”

Cobb angled his ear toward the back room when the sounds of a scuffle erupted. “The boys?”

Collins remained unperturbed. “Better be, else the station’s infested with the biggest rats this side of the Continental Divide. You have that letter, Mr. Bridger?”

“No. I haven’t written it yet.”

“Three days express. Six days regular.”

“I remember.” He paused. “What’s the slowest way to get a letter to Chicago.”

“Slower than six days, you mean?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I suppose putting off writing it would take care of that.”

One corner of Cobb’s mouth edged upward. “I’d prefer to write it this evening, post it tomorrow, and have it take a month to arrive.”

“A month? The pony express was three weeks faster than that. I suppose I could get Finn or Rabbit to walk it there.”

“Something more practical,” Cobb said dryly.

“It’s an interesting idea, sending something by way of a slow boat to China. That’s just an expression, you understand. No telling what would become of your letter if it went by way of China. You
do
want it to reach Chicago, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“You expecting a reply to your correspondence?”

“I am.”

“Then I guess it’s your intention to stay put for a while.”

“For a while.”

“I pegged you for a gambling man right off.”

“I remember.”

“My wife will tell you that I’ve made that judgment before and been wrong about it.”

“She already has.”

“Sure. I should have known.” The station agent looked Cobb Bridger in the eye. “Am I wrong?”

“No one seems to think so, not even your wife.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I’ve been playing poker at the Pennyroyal every night since I arrived. That’s four evenings running. Tonight will make my fifth, and I’m winning more than I’m losing. Just this afternoon, Walt Mangold told me I’m good for business.”

“I reckon he’s right. He might have mentioned I don’t hold much with gamblers.”

“Walt never said a word. Mrs. Collins warned me.”

“That so? Well, I reckon she was right to, but maybe she also told you it’s not personal.”

“She said your son left Bitter Springs to take up the sporting life. I’d say that was very personal.”

Jefferson Collins snorted softly. His Adam’s apple bobbed above his stiff collar when he swallowed. “More like he was run out of town. Couldn’t pay his debts, and the Burdicks would have taken it out of his hide. I paid up, but he still had to leave. The Burdicks are gone now, but I don’t suppose he knows that, and I don’t suppose it would matter if he did.”

The station agent’s mouth curled to one side, regret stamped on his narrow face. He knuckled his bearded chin. “I can’t think why I’m telling you this.”

Cobb said nothing. He didn’t have to. The reasons for the station agent’s confession chose that moment to charge out of the back room. Rabbit wielded the broom with the flair and deadly purpose of St. George wielding Ascalon, and Finn used the dustpan like a shield to protect his flank. To their credit, they made an attempt to put on the brakes when they spied him. The beans made that impossible. Both boys lost their footing at the same time, and all their flailing was in aid of nothing except comic effect. They landed on their backsides hard enough to jar the floor. Rabbit managed to hold on to the broom. Finn’s dustpan flew out of his hand and would have conked him on the head if Cobb hadn’t caught it.

“Yep,” said their grandfather, leaning over the counter for a good look. “Nothing as graceless.”

“Or as amusing.” Cobb handed the dustpan back to Finn.

“Hey, Mr. Bridger.”

“Hey, Finn.” His eyes darted to Rabbit. “Hey, Rabbit.”

“Hello.” He turned on one hip and rubbed his backside. Beans were stuck to his denim overalls. Grimacing, he swept them aside.

“Better than picking out buckshot,” Cobb said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Rabbit’s grandfather.

Cobb extended a hand to help Rabbit up. When the boy had sure footing, he extended the same courtesy to Finn. Rabbit started sweeping, but Finn just set the dustpan on the floor and sidled up to the counter. He was too short to prop his elbow on it, but that didn’t stop him from trying to mimic Cobb’s casual pose.

“What’d you come for, Mr. Bridger?” asked Finn. “You have an errand for me? I do errands for people, you know.” He shrugged his thin shoulders. “But I probably told you that already.”

“You did. I haven’t forgotten. There might be something you can do for me later.”

“Sure. As long as it’s not after I’m supposed to be in bed. Granny wouldn’t like that.”