He was Tepaha's youngest grandchild, and Old Ike's favorite. Both had pampered him, laughing at his fop's dress and mannerisms, only scolding him mildly for laziness and general no-accountness. So why, then, should they suddenly turn severe?
'Hi'ya, Gran'pa, Uncle Ike,' he said. 'How's your hammer hangin'?'
'Silence,' Tepaha said. 'You are in great disgrace.'
'Me? Aw, now, Gran'pa – '
Tepaha suddenly slapped him. As I.K. let out a pained howl, Tepaha slapped him again. The youth clenched his teeth, his eyes tear-filled. Tepaha drew the gleaming knife from his boot-top and handed it to him.
'You will hand this to your Uncle Ike. He will use my knife and his hand. So we both punish you for stealing from him.'
'N-no!' I.K. gasped. 'I – w-what is he gonna -?'
'He will cut off one of your fingers.'
'Cut off my -? _Oh, no!_ P-please, Gran'pa. Please, d-don't – '
Tepaha stared at him stonily. Implacably, he repeated his order. One finger would be cut off now. Two, if he delayed. Three if he delayed longer.
'Aw, now, looky,' Arlie protested. 'This ain't really fair.'
'Silence,' said Tepaha.
'But it ain't fair, Grandfather Tepaha. You an' Paw taught I.K. all the orneriness he knows. You laughed about his stealing. It ain't his fault – '
'Silence! He stole from his own family, your father. A great crime, and a shame to me.'
'But, dang it -!'
Tepaha swung his hand swiftly, slapping Arlie full in the face. Now, he declared, Arlie had best remain silent or he would be slapped again. Boz laughed at his brother's discomfiture.
'Boy, are you gutless! Catch me lettin' him slap me around!'
Arlie ignored the jibe. Tepaha grabbed his grandson by the arm, and hauled him before Old Ike. Trembling, I.K. held out his left hand, and Ike neatly sliced off his third finger and handed it back to him.
I.K. clutched it dully, holding the bleeding stump against his chest. Vacant-eyed, numb with shock, he listened as Tepaha pronounced the remainder of his sentence. He was to leave King's Junction at once. If he ever returned, he would be killed.
'Now, go,' Tepaha said, pointing. And I.K. went. And the old Apache rolled the dining room doors shut behind him.
Tepaha turned around again. His eyes found Ike's, and Ike slowly nodded; jerked his head at Boz.
'Stretch yourself out there on the floor,' he said. 'Your Gran'father Tepaha is gonna kick you.'
'Huh?' Boz grunted. 'What the hell you talkin' about?'
'I said to lay yourself down! Now, do it or I'll lay you!'
'B-but – but – ' Boz's eyes darted nervously from his father to Tepaha. 'What the shit is this? Why is Tepaha a-wantin' to kick me?'
Ike said that the kicking was his own idea, just as cutting off I.K.'s finger had been Tepaha's. 'You kicked Joshie, his kinswoman. Now, he will kick you.'
'But, God dammit -!' Boz whirled on his wife. 'You've been lyin' about me, ain't you? Now, by Christ, you take it back or I'll – '
'She didn't say nothin',' Arlie said idly. 'Got too much pride to admit that her own husband would kick her.'
'And I didn't, by God! Anyone that says I did is a fucking liar!'
'I said it,' Arlie grinned, 'an' I wasn't lying. So you better hump your ass for that kickin'!'
Boz dived for him, his hand darting toward his boot-top. At virtually the same instant, he found the point of Arlie's knife pricking at his throat.
'Now, you lay down, boy,' Arlie said softly. 'Get yourself down on them planks, or you're gonna be minus an Adam's apple.'
Boz lay down, cursing, vowing to get his brother if it took him a hundred years. Arlie laughed that it would take him that long to get a hard-on.
'Enough!' Old Ike growled; and to Tepaha, 'Whenever you are ready, old friend.'
Tepaha stepped forward. He kicked Boz twice, the second kick causing the young man to break wind noisily.
Arlie roared with laughter, as Boz sat up. 'Always figured you was full of shit. Reckon there ain't no doubt about it, now!'
His face white with pain and fury, Boz came slowly to his feet. Casually, Arlie turned his back on him, as though to address his wife.
It was a trap, of course. But Boz saw it as opportunity. He sprang, knife drawn. But Arlie was suddenly no longer where he had been, and, as suddenly, Boz was no longer period.
He was back on the floor again, slit from crotch to breastbone, his guts spilled out on the time-stained planks.
Arlie wiped the blood from his knife, giving his father an ostensibly mournful glance. 'I had to do it, Paw. Just wasn't no way out.'
Old Ike nodded, his face expressionless. 'I saw,' he said.
____________________
*Chapter Four*
Critchfield King stood on the open platform of the chair-car, watching the gradual pre-dawn lightening of the prairie, nervously flinging his cheroot away from him as he waited for the woman, the supposed soldier's bride.
What the hell had happened, he wondered savagely. What in God's name could be holding her up?
She had missed the money-belt immediately after their love-making, and promptly demanded its return. Teasingly, he had promised to give it back, but only if she joined him on the platform for a few kisses. She had agreed to do so, as soon as she had visited the toilet. That had been more than thirty minutes ago; considerably more, for the train had stopped at two villages since then. Soon it would be broad daylight, too late for a showdown with her without attracting fatal attention to himself. If she didn't show up within another five minutes –
She didn't. Nerves jumping, Critch feverishly sought an answer to the riddle, and quickly settled upon two.
She had sought out the conductor, and told him of the theft – the embarrassing and compromising fact that she, a married woman, had given herself to a man and been robbed in the process. It didn't seem likely that she would have been desperate or stupid enough to do so, but she might have. In which case, he, Critch King, was in very serious trouble.
On the other hand – and this seemed more likely – something had happened to delay her in the toilet. She had taken sick, or her clothes had become conspicuously soiled by their love-making and had to be cleaned, or – Or?
He had to find out. He had nothing to lose by learning the truth. So bracing himself, putting on an air of easy self-assurance, he left the platform and went back inside the car.
Kerosene lanterns burned at either end of it, rocking and swaying with the motion of the train, dimly illuminating its dozing cargo of humanity. Seeping through the grimy windows, dawn provided more light. So, well before reaching the seat where he and the girl had been sitting, Critch could see that it was unoccupied.
He went on through the car, and into the next one, and so on through the remaining three cars of the train. He retraced his steps, pausing once to display his ticket to a yawning conductor. The man showed no interest in him whatsoever, and, breathing easier, Critch returned to his own car and the platform where he had been standing.
Still no sign of her. Cautiously, Critch reentered the car and gently tested the door of the women's toilet.
There was no response for a moment. Then, with a dull rattle of metal, it swung open. The lock had been broken. Glass, from the shattered window, covered the floor. Critch took a startled glance at the scene. Then, swiftly pulling the door to, he entered the opposite door to the men's toilet.
He locked it, stood leaning against it. Cursed softly, as he pondered this new riddle.
The woman had jumped the train, apparently. Or, in view of the broken lock, she had been forced to jump it. Someone had broken in on her, and to escape that someone she had smashed the window glass and made her escape.