Chapter IV
He traveled with the sun at his left until it dipped behind the mountains and died its daily death. Darkness came, bringing a cool breath over the land. Barney rested under a tree, keeping in mind his direction, the location, and the distance he’d traveled. If he made a mistake in his calculations, or judged wrong, he’d get lost within thirty minutes, traveling in darkness. That would mean his last chance was gone for keeps.
Josie seemed to be alone in the house. He watched the place for ten or fifteen minutes after his furtive arrival. He saw no signs of any other human being — only Josie’s shadow passing the lighted window now and then.
He guessed Pa Calhoun was still busy at his logging.
Barney was still in no mood to take chances. He hung back close to the brush line and tossed a handful of pebbles against the side of the house. Josie was passing the window. He saw her stop. He threw more pebbles. She hesitated, disappeared from his line of vision. A few seconds later the front door opened, and she came out with Pa Calhoun’s rifle in her hands.
Barney tossed more pebbles. They rattled on the planking of the porch. Josie whirled around. “Barney?”
“Yeah. You alone?”
“So much alone I’ve been about to bust with it,” she said, coming from the porch to meet him in the yard. She stood with her head tilted, looking up at him. Suddenly she started crying. Barney couldn’t have that, and he folded his big arms about her. She seemed to like it, and wept against his chest.
“Tyne Conover was here,” she said. “Oh, he was mean-mad, Barney! He had a lump like a banty egg on his jaw and he swore he was going to take no more chances with you.”
“How long ago?”
“Just before nightfall. Said he was going back to the village and get a bunch of men together and deputize them. Barney, it’ll be awful. There’ll be white liquor sneaked along despite everything Conover can do. These men are all born hunters. They live it, breathe it, all of them swear by hunting. They’ll figure this a mighty thrilling hunt — only you’ll be the game! Barney, you can’t face it. I don’t care if you’ve got Cousin Bobo’s money. Let’s just get out of here...” She stopped speaking, looking stunned at what she had said. “I didn’t mean to put in that way. You... you didn’t ask me to go, did you?”
Barney was scared; but he was mad too. He might make an escape from these mountains. But always Bobo’s murder would be hanging over him. What kind of life would he have then? “I’m not going,” he said abruptly. “If I were, you would go with me. Instead, you’re going to take me some place else. You know a place called Cold Slough?”
“Sure. It’s a cove about six miles from here. Bobo’s uncle, Josh Hensley lives there. Uncle Josh raised Bobo, after his parents died. He’s a kindly, fine old man, Barney. He’s the reason Bobo grabbed the money.”
“Why would Bobo get it for Uncle Josh?”
She seemed on the point of explaining; then she said, “You’ll see when we get there. Come on. We’ll use Pa’s pickup and drive by the dirt road.”
Barney sensed sickness and despair the moment he entered the cabin nestled in Cold Slough Cove. The cabin was built low into the hillside against the blasts of winter and heat of summer. It was old and filled with the lingering odors of smoked ham, moist earth, and salt pork. A sparrow-like old woman was in the outer room, greeting Josie and acknowledging the introduction to Barney. Josie introduced Barney as Mr. Simpkins, and Barney knew it was because there was no telling how this old lady would react to the presence of the man accused of Bobo’s murder.
The old lady was Uncle Josh’s wife; she had reared Bobo.
Barney followed Josie into the next room. He was prepared for sickness, but the sight of the old man stunned him.
Paralyzed. No control at all. And in great pain.
Blast Bobo, anyhow, for sending me here, Barney thought. This was Bobo’s first thought, this old man, as he lay dying. He was counting on me wanting to do something about it.
Uncle Josh said, “You’re a friend of Bobo’s?”
“Yes,” Barney said softly.
“A fine boy, Bobo. Soon as he heard about my accident, he came right down.
“The trouble’s down there — in my back. Had a mean bull. He broke his chain. Nigh gored Ma. It was pretty frightful when that bull hit me.
“They want to send me off to a surgeon that fixes these kind of cases. That takes a whop of money. Course Bobo was going to take care of all that. Now Bobo is...” The old man stopped speaking. He touched a pale tongue to dry, cracked old lips. “Sheriff Conover was up here today. Says Bobo was murdered. Says Bobo stole the money from a fight manager.”
“Bobo never took anything that didn’t really belong to him,” Barney said.
He’s sure gonna feel lousy when he learns the truth for once and all, Barney thought. He felt dismal.
Barney and Josie finished their visit with the old man and went into the kitchen where the old lady invited them to a long table with benches on either side. Barney drank strong black coffee which had been ground in the coffee mill in the far comer of the kitchen. He ate biscuits, side meat, and a platter of eggs, touched up with golden butter and strawberry preserves.
After he and Josie visited with the old lady, they went out to Pa Calhoun’s pick-up.
Barney asked, “Skip Merrill live anywhere around here?”
“On down this road. The second cove. It’s about three miles.”
“You go on home,” Barney suggested. “I got an idea where Bobo’s money might be found.”
Josie’s face was grave in the moonlight. “Skip Merrill means trouble, Barney.”
“Who did Bobo stay with?”
“He lived alone, since his wife died two years ago. Barney...”
“I’ll be careful. I’ll see you at your house by dawn. You’ve still got Pa Calhoun’s gun” — he grinned — “so I won’t worry about you.”
He strode down the dirt road, his thoughts ticking along on the task ahead. The night promised to be a long one.
The second cove, Josie had said. About three miles. In years of road work, Barney had come into the ability to judge road distance with accuracy. That must be the house, the one just ahead. It was set thirty yards back from the road and looked like a weathered box with a gabled lid. Lamplight made yellow squares of the front windows, which were small and set high.
Barney walked up a path that yearned for the removal of weeds. He slipped Tyne Conover’s revolver out of the waistband of his trousers, rapped on the door. After a moment, footsteps sounded inside.
The door cracked a trifle, and Barney set his weight against it, slamming it open.
Merrill staggered to a stop in the center of the room. He looked at the gun and fright came into his eyes. He had taken off his shirt and his shoulders hunched under his dirty gray union suit top. He mustered enough brag to bring a sneer to life on his lips. “Pretty high and mighty with that gun, ain’t you?”
Barney ignored him. He moved closer to Skip, and sniffed. Skip glowered.
Barney said, “It’s the same sour stink I smelled when I was slugged in the doorway of that cabin on Little Sanloosa. You’re the boy who hit me, Skip, and I’m of the opinion that you’ve got Bobo’s money.”
“You aimin’ to shoot the truth out of me?”
Barney eyed Skip’s shoulders, patting the barrel of the gun in his other palm. With a sudden motion he slid the gun into the corner behind him.
Skip roared with the ferocity of an angry bull, and charged. Barney sidestepped and knocked out two of Skip’s snag teeth. Skip staggered back. Barney punched him in the stomach. Skip lost all his wind. Barney hit him on the nose, and it began bleeding. Skip threw one punch. It was feeble. Barney took it on his shoulder, measured Skip’s jaw. Skip, he remembered, had slugged him twice. Once with a gun in Josie’s, a second time on Little Sanloosa.