Crowley eyed him critically enough to make him wonder if the man had ever spent time as a tailor himself. Finally he nodded his satisfaction and counted out coins for the man who’d sold the suit.
“There is a haberdashery at the edge of the saloon over that way,” the tailor said as he pointed vaguely, which, as the town had no proper streets, was the best that could be managed, “should you like a new hat as well.”
Slate stared at the man for a moment and then simply shook his head.
Crowley walked for the door of the shop after thanking the tailor.
Slate watched Crowley break into one of his smiles. “What?” Slate was slipping his hat in place and almost managing a scowl.
“I have seen men less devoted to their wives than you are to your hat, Mister Slate.”
“And had I a wife, perhaps I’d care less about my hat, sir.”
“I should rather not consider the ramifications of that statement.”
Slate reared back as if slapped and then chuckled. “You’ve a vile mind, Mister Crowley.”
“Now, tell me about the pale thing you saw before everything went mad.”
“He was tall and thin and pale. Looked to me as if he might be an Indian, but as washed of color as me.” Slate looked away. “He spoke to me in some language I have never heard, but I understood him. He said we would meet again.”
“You were pale when we met. You are an albino, after all, but you are a different sort of pale now.”
“How do you mean?”
Your skin lacked pigment before. Now it has more color to it, but that color is white. That’s really the best way I can put it.”
Slate nodded and pursed his thin lips. “He was too thin.”
“What do you mean?” Crowley looked puzzled.
“I mean I am thin, but I am still a possibility. He was taller than me and thinner than me. He looked impossible. His body is too thin and his arms and legs so very long and his head shape was thinner even than mine.”
Crowley stared at him for a long moment and finally nodded. “That thing we dealt with in Carson’s Point was a bit like that. But only a bit.”
“I never truly saw the thing but towards the end, and frankly I was a bit too unsettled by what was happening to me to much care at that point.”
“You touched a stone. The stone went into you. We’ve discussed that before, of course. We know that the stones were put into the — whatever the hell it might be’s — chosen victims and they changed, but it wasn’t the same as these things. These were sudden and the bodies didn’t stay changed.”
Slate looked at him. “Did they not?”
“No.” Crowley looked back just as hard, his face impossible to read past that damnable grin of his. “They became what they once were when they died. They were Indians, but we knew that.”
“Why do you suppose they attacked?”
Crowley shrugged. “I neither know nor care. Humans do stupid things to humans all the time, Mister Slate. I don’t allow myself the luxury of paying much attention.”
That was a lie and Slate knew it. They discussed many things on their travels and inevitably what they talked about most was the state of the world around them as gleaned from various newspapers. Crowley bought them and read them insatiably. Still, he did not call the man on his lie.
“And the soldiers? How do you feel about them being here, Mister Crowley?”
“I’ve never much taken to soldiers. Been one before, fought in my share of wars and followed orders, but I’ve never liked it. Soldiers are expected to follow orders, no matter how foolish those orders might be.”
Crowley paused a moment and then asked, “And you? Do you side with the Indians?”
“No sir, I do not. I side with the people on the streets who are getting caught up in this conflict. I knew what those men intended when it came to the squaws.” He shook his head. “I do not believe that women should be misused.”
Crowley nodded.
“And you, Mister Crowley? Do you side with either group?”
“The Indians were minding their own business. The army was sent by someone. They do not, as a rule come without orders. They are summoned. So one is doing what they have always done and the other is following orders from elsewhere. I can’t say as I much care either way.”
“You keep saying that sort of thing, and yet, here you are, grinning and wading into conflicts.”
Crowley’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “My pale companion has gotten himself into trouble and asked for my help. What is a man to do?” His plain face looked around the shop for a moment and then back to Slate. “How does the suit feel?”
“Like proper clothing, and I thank you for it, Mister Crowley.” Slate ducked his head briefly for a moment, feeling an unaccustomed flash of shame. “I fear I cannot possibly pay you back any time soon.”
Crowley waved it aside. “I have the money to spare and you have lost all you owned before we met. As we are traveling together for the present time, I can hardly expect you to settle into life as an undertaker again, though I imagine you could have made fair compensation this particular day.”
“Just the same.”
“Should I decide you owe me, Mister Slate, you may rest assured you’ll be informed of such debts. Until then, merely accept that under our current circumstances I do not mind investing in your clothes.” He snorted. “Besides which, you were beginning to look too much like an Indian and I need to not confuse you for any other white-skinned Indians we might encounter.”
“Do you suppose that’s a strong likelihood?”
“You’ve run across one already and I am fairly certain you are looking forward to a second encounter.”
“What makes you say that, Mister Crowley?”
“Because you have a need to understand your place in the universe, Mister Slate.”
“And you don’t?”
“I have known my place in the universe for a very long time, Mister Slate. And we are still looking into your position.”
Neither spoke of what might happen when that position was known.
Finding rooms proved challenging, but not impossible. Apparently having a giant albino looming over your shoulder made people more willing to find space for a man in a negotiating mood. The rooms were comfortable enough, and as an added bonus seemed bug free.
In the morning, Crowley looked at the growth on his face, and trimmed the hairs down to manageable levels rather than shaving them away completely. He knew it wouldn’t last but for the next few days at least he had a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache to fight off the cold.
When he came downstairs, Slate was already waiting for him, and the small gathering of tables were all filled except for the one where the albino waited. His hat had been mended and looked mostly like it had in the past. Crowley chose not to feed into his obsession and ignored the thing completely. Within twenty minutes they’d eaten and after ten minutes more they were on their way.
“Where are we going, exactly?” Crowley asked, though he already knew the answer.
“I’m off to find the other one like me. You are along to keep me out of trouble.”
Crowley nodded. “I seem to remember something about that.”
“As it was your idea, I should hope so, sir.”
Despite the violence of the day, before the crowds were moving about, many of them looking to buy wares and others looking to sell. It was distinctly possible that there were even more wretches moving into the town.
There were soldiers everywhere they looked, though for the moment none of them seemed to be causing too much trouble. Crowley had no doubt that would change soon enough.
Folsom had made clear his intention to clean the Indians from the area for the safety of all involved, regardless of how the people felt about that. As it had been Indians starting the shooting the day before — excluding what Slate had accomplished all by himself — it seemed perfectly reasonable to expect the captain and his men to be as prepared as possible.