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"I won't. You made your point."
She gave him a long, tired look. He understood it, but there wasn't anything else he could do. And then, a moment later, she was gone. He fit his pistol around his waist and took a deep breath. It would be easier to deal with his brothers himself. He could just lay it all on the line and if it went wrong, then he was the only one who got hurt.
But Chris already knew that wasn't an option any more. It had already gone wrong, if other people were getting hurt, and sure as the sun rose in the morning, Mick was layed up in the doc's, likely as not to succumb to his injuries. Someone needed to set things straight, and clearly, the bartender's way of doing things wasn't doing the job no matter how much he wanted it to.
The Sheriff didn't look surprised when he walked in. Roberts never gave Chris the impression of being surprised. It was a trait that worked well in Sheriffs and bartenders both. A Sheriff has to deal with all kinds of craziness that normal people never see. A bartender hears all sorts of stories and has to sit with a straight face while some drunk tells them. In a sense, they were practically the same.
"Sheriff, I got some information for you. It ain't much, but it's something. I hope."
He told the short version of the story, as short as he could get it. By the end of it, the Sheriff was leaning back and thumbing cartridges into a rifle idly, as if he did it every day.
"You know where they're hiding out?"
"Sure," Chris answered. "They told me to go meet 'em."
"Then you could take me there."
The bartender answered by way of a solemn nod.
"I don't like the notion of taking a civilian along, no offense, but I suppose it has to be done."
"Suppose you're right," Chris said.
That was the last thing they said for a while. The bartender followed the Sheriff out the door and slipped onto the back of his horse. He took the lead, in spite of the fact that he shouldn't have been there. He shouldn't have been going at all, if Marie had her way. She had the right look, too, but there wasn't much choice.
Finally, the sun settling into an evening twilight, they crested a hill, and Chris saw what he'd been looking for. A big tree, half the branches missing and the trunk bent and gnarled like an old woman's spine. "There," he said, and pointed.
The Sheriff nodded; Chris could guess what he was thinking without the man saying anything. This was about where one would expect outlaws to be hiding out. Far enough out that nobody was going to come looking if they didn't know where to find what they were looking for. On the other hand, it was close enough that you could make it in an hour or two—little enough time to cause as much mischief as you might need.
Chris took a deep breath.
"You need me any further?"
The Sheriff sat for a moment, not answering. The faraway 'pop' that echoed through the hills and ripped through Roberts's thigh ended up answering for him. The Sheriff let out a yell and slipped off his horse.
Chris could about hear the sound of a voice calling out: 'I said you oughta come alone!'
He eased himself off his own horse and grabbed the Sheriff, who clutched at his leg. He needed to get them out of there, and he needed to do it in a hurry.
Thirty-Five
Marie watched Jamie as he took a deep breath and then put the skillet on the stove and crack a couple of eggs. He was surprisingly capable. He had to be, with his parents away as often as they were. Now, with them never coming back, he'd only have to be more independent.
The egg let out a hiss as he poured it in. A quick look around before he threw it away, as if he needed to find it again. And no doubt, he did. He was functioning again, on a basic level, and that was an incredible achievement all by itself.
After all, it was barely a week past finding out that his parents were dead. Only a week past his entire life being turned upside down. A teacher wasn't a replacement for parents; it was a simple reality, and one that she wasn't afraid to confess to.
She hadn't known him for years. She'd been here four months. But someone needed to do something. She wasn't going to see a child hurt. No one deserved to suffer, but it hurt especially to see such a sweet, caring boy put into a bad spot.
The bad spot in this case, the worst spot of all, was that his promised protector had gone off to talk to the Sheriff, and he hadn't come back. Not all night, if she was in a position to know. Now Jamie was making himself breakfast, and if he worried then he was doing a good job hiding it for now.
The smell of food started to fill the little hotel room. To fill her nostrils. Marie smiled without being able to help herself. She pushed herself up from her seat on the sofa, pushed her mood out of the gutter.
"Smells good," she offered as she stepped over to the meager stove.
Jamie looked up at her with a mixture of emotions. Then, after a long time, he murmured, "thank you." He didn't comment any further.
"What do you think we should do today?"
