“Two of those fellows had eight thousand dollars on them when they were killed.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Why, I thought you knew how that worked, Mr. Lawrence. The money goes for their burials. And Mr. Clay got their funerals. It’s just like they’ve been drumming up business for him.”
Jackson was in the other wing of the building, waiting in the vestibule, when the jailor brought Imabelle from her cell. He gave a long sighing laugh and took her in his arms. She wriggled closely against the curve of his fat stomach and welded her bruised lips against his sweaty kiss.
Then she drew back and said, “Daddy, we got to hurry and see that old buzzard and get our room back so we’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight.”
“It’s going to be all right,” he told her. “I got my job back. And it was Mr. Clay who went your bail.”
She held him at arms’ length and looked into his eyes.
“And you got your job back too, Daddy. Well ain’t that fine?”
“Imabelle,” he said sheepishly. “I just want to tell you, I’m sorry I lost your trunk full of gold ore. I did the best I could to save it.”
She laughed out loud and squeezed his strong, fat arms.
“Daddy, don’t you worry. Who cares about an old trunk full of gold ore, as long as I got you?”