Playfully, Cletus knocked the hat off Billy and ran his hand through his hair. “Billy, if I didn’t know you was only twenty-one, I would swear you was seventy years old.”
“Gentlemen, please, some of us are trying to sleep,” one of the passengers said. The passenger had white hair and a white beard.
“If I was you, mister, I wouldn’t be worryin’ none about sleepin’,” Cletus said. “Old as you are, you’ll be gettin’ plenty of sleep before too much longer.” Cletus laughed, then poked the other two. “You get that?” he asked. “I said this old codger will be gettin’ plenty of sleep before too much longer. That’s ’cause he’ll be dead,” Cletus added. Then he laughed again.
“We got it,” Billy said. “Come on, let’s find a seat.”
The engineer blew the whistle, and the train jerked forward. When it did so, Cletus, who was obviously the drunkest of the three, fell against a young woman.
“Pardon me, miss,” Cletus said. As he got up, he let his hands wander across her body, taking the time to squeeze one of her breasts.
“Oh!” the young woman gasped.
“Sorry,” Cletus said. “I didn’t mean to squeeze your tittie there. I was just tryin’ to stand up, is all.” Cletus giggled, and the young woman flushed red with embarrassment.
As Cletus stood up, he saw Falcon staring disapprovingly at him.
“What are you lookin’ at?” he asked.
Falcon shook his head. “I’m not really sure,” he said. “But if I were to guess, I’d say I was lookin’ at a pile of cow manure.”
“Mister! Do you know who you are talkin’ to?” Cletus asked, his eyes flashing with anger.
“I suppose I’m talking to that pile of cow manure,” Falcon answered, his calm, low-key voice contrasting with Cletus’s increasing hysteria.
“By God, I’m going to teach you a lesson,” Cletus shouted. He reached for his gun, only to discover that the holster was empty.
“What the hell! Where’s my gun?” he shouted.
“I have it,” Billy said.
“What the hell are you doing with it?”
“I’m trying to keep you from being killed,” Billy said. “Now get back here.”
Cletus pointed at Billy. “Look, you may be my brother, but I don’t let nobody order me around, do you understand? Nobody.”
Billy walked over to the open window of the train, and stuck his hand through, holding Cletus’s gun just above the ground that was moving swiftly beneath.
“Get over here and sit down, or say good-bye to your gun,” Billy ordered.
Cletus turned to Falcon. “Mister, I don’t know who you are,” he said. “But this here ain’t over between us.”
“Cletus?” Billy called again.
Grumbling, Cletus returned to the end of the car, then sat down in the seat beside Ray, who was already asleep. Within moments, Cletus was also in alcohol induced slumber. Billy waited until both brothers were snoring before he got up. He stopped at the seat of the woman Cletus had groped.
“Miss, I’m sorry about my brother. He don’t really mean nothin’, he’s just drunk,” Billy said.
The young woman nodded, but said nothing. Billy then walked back to Falcon. “Mister, I hope you don’t hold no grudges,” he said.
“Your brother has a mean streak about him,” Falcon said.
“Yes, sir, he does,” Billy said. “I try and look out for him, but I can’t always be there.”
“Why do you even try?”
“Because he’s my brother,” Billy said, as if that explained everything.
By now, the train was fully under way and the excitement was forgotten as nearly everyone on the car went back to sleep.
About an hour later, Falcon walked to the water barrel at the front of the car. As he did so, he passed the three brothers. Cletus and Ray were asleep, or passed out, in the back-facing seat. Billy, who was sitting across from them in the front-facing seat, was awake and looking through the window at the passing desert. Falcon took down a tin cup and held it under the spigot, then filled the cup with water.
“Mister?” Billy called quietly.
Falcon drank the water before he replied.
“Yes.”
“I want to apologize again for my two brothers. They ain’t like this all the time. They just got drunk back there in Pueblo, that’s all.”
“Looks to me like you have your hands full just keeping up with them,” Falcon said.
“Yes, sir, I reckon I do. But they’re sleepin’ it off now. Chances are, when they wake up, there won’t neither one of them even remember seein’ you.”
Falcon hung the cup back on the hook, then started back to his seat. Before he left, though, he turned back toward Billy. “You’re a good brother to them,” he said. “You’re a hell of a lot better than either one of them deserves.”
By mid-morning it was very hot in the train car, and though the raised windows did allow air to come in, the air felt as if it were coming off a blast furnace. In addition, smoke and cinders often flew in, and one cinder, which was still white-hot, set fire to a seat and the fire had to be patted out.
By now, both Ray and Cletus were awake. It was obvious that they were suffering the effects of a hangover, because they both sat very quietly, staring morosely at the rest of the car. It also appeared that Billy had been correct in his assessment, because neither one of them showed any recognition of Falcon.
“La Junta!” the conductor called, passing through all the cars of the train. “Next stop is La Junta!”
Stepping down from the train, Falcon took in the sunbaked town with a slow, all-encompassing sweep of his eyes. Behind Falcon, the locomotive relief valve vented steam in loud, rhythmic puffs, while wheel bearings and journals popped and snapped as they cooled. The wheels of a utility cart squeaked as an old Mexican man pushed it up to the baggage car to receive the luggage that had been checked through. A team and carriage waited alongside the station, the horses standing in harness with their heads lowered to escape the sun. A Mexican man sat in the shade near the carriage, apparently waiting to meet one of the passengers. The railroad dispatcher was just outside the door of the depot, wiping the sweat from his face as he looked on at the few departing passengers. The train conductor was standing at the foot of the boarding steps examining his pocket watch as the three cowboys left the train.
“Señor Billy!” the Mexican said, standing then to call out.
“Manuel, thanks for meeting us,” Billy answered.
“What do you mean, thanks?” Cletus asked with a low growl. “We pay the son of a bitch, don’t we? Don’t seem to me like thanks is needed.”
Falcon scratched a match on a post and held it to his quirley, squinting through the smoke as he watched two of the young men climb into the carriage. Billy walked over to the baggage cart with Manuel to help him retrieve the luggage.
“Hey, Manuel, how about stopping by the saloon for a bit?” Cletus asked as the Mexican climbed back onto the driver’s seat and picked up the reins.
“I’m sorry, señor, I no can do,” Manuel said. “Señor Clinton say I must bring you back to La Soga Larga.”
“The ranch can get along for half an hour without us,” Cletus said.
“I’m sorry, señor. You pa will fire me if I do this.”
“And I’ll fire you if you don’t,” Cletus said angrily.
“You cannot fire me,” Manuel said. “Only Señor Ike Clinton can fire me.”
“Yeah? Well the ole man ain’t goin’ to live forever, you know,” Cletus said. “And when he dies, I’ll fire you.”
“Cletus, enough,” Billy said. “Manuel is only doing his job.”
“All right, if we’re going home, then let’s go home,” Cletus said. “I’ll drive.”
Cletus crawled into the front seat, took the reins from Manuel, and removed the whip from its stand.
“Hyyaah!” he yelled as he lashed out at the team. The horses broke into a gallop from a standing start and, with Cletus shouting warnings and curses, the carriage raced down the main street, scattering pedestrians as it did so.