The Last Kind Words Saloon: A Novel Read Free Page B

the happy day a little.
     

 
    - 7 -
    San Saba wore a big floppy hat out to the cattle count, which took place early in the day, by the ramp up which the cattle were crowded into the boxcars. She had a pad in her hand and sat on a high chair provided by the railroad.
    Goodnight was startled to see the tall woman preparing to count cattle, but not as startled as Brownie, his horse, by the big floppy hat.
    To Goodnight’s embarrassment Brownie began to crow-hop, something he had not done in years. He soon brought him under control.
    San Saba secured her hat with a drawstring.
    “At home in Derbyshire I mainly count sheep, but Lord Ernle thinks I’ll do fine with cattle.”
    Goodnight could think of nothing to say, so he said nothing and nodded to Bose. Soon cattle began to surge up the ramp, into the waiting boxcars.
    Goodnight prided himself on his ability to count cattle. What it took was concentration, and he could concentrate when it was called for.
    San Saba occasionally made a mark on her pad. Some cattle were reluctant to load and had to be quirted.
    “I measure them in tens, which seems prudent,” she said. When the loading was complete she showed Goodnight the total on her pad: 1,266, exactly the total. Goodnight had arrived at the same number by the use of his two eyes.
    “I confess I’m surprised. I had not expected the two of us to have exactly the same count,” Goodnight said. “You’re a fine counter. Very few cattle men can count yearlings on the hoof.”
    “I concentrate,” she said. “But I write down numbers. I didn’t see you write anything down.”
    “What bothers me, ma’am, is that Lord Ernle must not have trusted my count. If Ben ain’t going to trust me, then this partnership ain’t like to work.”
    San Saba gave him a long look.
    “He trusts you, Mr. Goodnight. But the English are different, and they don’t know how to be other than different. Particularly not dukes.”
    “Did he really give you a diamond, back in Turkey or wherever you were?”
    “Yes, the San Soucis diamond, it’s very famous.”
    Then she turned and walked off. Mary had turned and walked off. He wondered what prompted females to keep showing him their rumps.
     

 
    - 8 -
    The sun was blazing hot and Wyatt and Doc had just settled down on the porch of the Last Kind Words Saloon when they saw a buggy coming from the east—and coming at a furious pace, too. Doc was savoring an early morning brandy, while Wyatt was drinking black coffee and trying to sober up. He had slept in the stables most of the night, driven out by Jessie’s sharp tongue. Lately she had seemed to find life with him most disagreeable. He didn’t know why.
    “That buggy’s practically flying,” Doc observed. “Why would anyone be in that big a hurry to arrive in no more of a town than this?”
    “Maybe it’s the Pony Express,” Wyatt said. Often he wished Doc would just shut up.
    “Nope, the Pony Express is out of business,” Doc announced cheerfully—“it was a darn slow way to get mail, anyway, if you ask me.”
    “I hope the dern buggy plans to pass on through,” Wyatt said. “It’s crowded enough here already.”
    “Crowded? Not that I notice,” Doc said.
    The buggy slowed as it passed the livery stable and finally pulled to a stop right in front of them. The dust of its passing took a while to settle.
    A tall man wearing a long coat and a soft felt hat extracted himself from the buggy and looked the two of them over before committing himself to speech.
    “Does this settlement have a name, gentlemen?” he finally asked, as he handed some bills to the man who drove the buggy.
    “Most of us call it Long Grass,” Doc said. He had an impulse to shoot the man, but managed to hold off—sometimes he couldn’t manage restraint, in which case his victims often required medical care. He decided not to shoot the tall stranger, mainly because he admired his soft felt hat.
    The stranger managed to heave a well-worn satchel