“They say he has grit,” said I. “I wanted a man with grit.”
“Yes, I suppose he has that. He is a notorious thumper. He is not a man I should care to share a bed with.”
“No more would I.”
“Report has it that he rode by the light of the moon with Quantrill and Bloody Bill Anderson. I would not trust him too much. I have heard too that he was particeps criminis in some road-agent work before he came here and attached himself to the courthouse.”
“He is to be paid when the job is done,” said I. “I have given him a token payment for expenses and he is to receive the balance when we have taken our man. I am paying a good fee of one hundred dollars.”
“Yes, a splendid inducement. Well, perhaps it will all work out to your satisfaction. I shall pray that you return safely, your efforts crowned with success. It may prove to be a hard journey.”
“The good Christian does not flinch from difficulties.”
“Neither does he rashly court them. The good Christian is not willful or presumptuous.”
“You think I am wrong.”
“I think you are wrongheaded.”
“We will see.”
“Yes, I am afraid so.”
Stonehill sold me the pony for eighteen dollars. The Negro smith caught him and brought him inside on a halter and filed his hoofs and nailed shoes on him. I brushed the burrs away and rubbed him down. He was frisky and spirited but not hysterical and he submitted to the treatment without biting or kicking us.
I put a bridle on him but I could not lift Papa’s saddle easily and I had the smith saddle him. He offered to ride the pony first. I said I thought I could handle him. I climbed gingerly aboard. Little Blackie did nothing for a minute or so and then he took me by surprise and pitched twice, coming down hard with his forelegs stiff, giving severe jolts to my “tailbone” and neck. I would have been tossed to the ground had I not grabbed the saddle horn and a handful of mane. I could get a purchase on nothing else, the stirrups being far below my feet. The smith laughed but I was little concerned with good form or appearance. I rubbed Blackie’s neck and talked softly to him. He did not pitch again but neither would he move forward.
“He don’t know what to make of a rider so light as you,” said the smith. “He thinks they is a horsefly on his back.”
He took hold of the reins near the pony’s mouth and coaxed him to walk. He led him around inside the big barn for a few minutes, then opened one of the doors and took him outside. I feared the daylight and cold wind would set Blackie off anew, but no, I had made me a “pal.”
The smith let go of the reins and I rode the pony down the muddy street at a walk. He was not very responsive to the reins and he worried his head around over the bit. It took me a while to get him turned around. He had been ridden before but not, I gathered, in a good long time. He soon fell into it. I rode him about town until he was lightly sweating.
When I got back to the barn the smith said, “He ain’t so mean, is he?”
I said, “No, he is a fine pony.”
I adjusted the stirrups up as high as they would go and the smith unsaddled Little Blackie and put him in a stall. I fed him some corn but only a small measured amount as I was afraid he might founder himself on the rich grain. Stonehill had been feeding the ponies largely on hay.
It was growing late in the day. I hurried over to Lee’s store, very proud of my horse and full of excitement at the prospect of tomorrow’s adventure. My neck was sore from being snapped but that was a small enough bother, considering the enterprise that was afoot.
I went in the back door without knocking and found Rooster sitting at the table with the man LaBoeuf. I had forgotten about him.
“What are you doing here?” said I.
“Hidy,” said LaBoeuf. “I am having a conversation with the marshal. He did not go to Little Rock after all. It is a business conversation.”
Rooster was eating candy. He said, “Set down, sis, and have a piece of taffy. This jaybird calls himself LaBoeuf. He claims he is a State Ranger in Texas. He come up here to tell us how the cow eat the cabbage.”
I said, “I know who he is.”
“He says he is on the track of our man. He wants to throw in with us.”
“I know what he wants and I have already told him we are not interested in his help. He has gone behind my back.”
“What is it?” said Rooster. “What is the trouble?”
“There is no trouble, except of his own making,” said I. “He made a proposition and I turned it down. That is all. We don’t need him.”
“Well now, he might come in handy,” said Rooster. “It will not cost us anything. He has a big-bore Sharps carbine if we are jumped by buffaloes or elephants. He says he knows how to use it. I say let him go. We might run into some lively work.”
“No, we don’t need him,” said I. “I have already told him that. I have got my horse and everything is ready. Have you seen to all your business?”
Rooster said, “Everything is ready but the grub and it is working. The chief deputy wanted to know who had done them sheets. He said he would put you on down there at good wages if you want a job. Potter’s wife is fixing the eats. She is not what I call a good cook but she is good enough and she needs the money.”
LaBoeuf said, “I reckon I must have the wrong man. Do you let little girls hooraw you, Cogburn?”
Rooster turned his cold right eye on the Texan. “Did you say hooraw?”
“Hooraw,” said LaBoeuf. “That was the word.”
“Maybe you would like to see some real hoorawing.”
“There is no hoorawing in it,” said I. “The marshal is working for me. I am paying him.”
“How much are you paying him?” asked LaBoeuf.
“That is none of your affair.”
“How much is she paying you, Cogburn?”
“She is paying enough,” said Rooster.
“Is she paying five hundred dollars?”
“No.”
“That is what the Governor of Texas has put up for Chelmsford.”
“You don’t say so,” said Rooster. He thought it over. Then he said, “Well, it sounds good but I have tried to collect bounties from states and railroads too. They will lie to you quicker than a man will. You do good to get half what they say they will pay. Sometimes you get nothing. Anyhow, it sounds queer. Five hundred dollars is mightly little for a man that killed a senator.”
“Bibbs was a little senator,” said LaBoeuf. “They would not have put up anything except it would look bad.”
“What is the terms?” said Rooster.
“Payment on conviction.”
Rooster thought that one over. He said, “We might have to kill him.”
“Not if we are careful.”
“Even if we don’t they might not convict him,” said Rooster. “And even if they do, by the time they do there will be a half dozen claims for the money from little top-water peace officers down there. I believe I will stick with sis.”
“You have not heard the best part,” said LaBoeuf.
“The Bibbs family has put up fifteen hundred dollars for Chelmsford.”
“Have they now?” said Rooster. “The same terms?”
“No, the terms are these: just deliver Chelmsford up to the sheriff of McLennan County, Texas. They don’t care if he is alive or dead. They pay off as soon as he is identified.”
“That is more to my liking,” said Rooster. “How do you figure on sharing the money?”
LaBoeuf said, “If we take him alive I will split that fifteen hundred dollars down the middle with you and claim the state reward for myself. If we have to kill him I will give you a third of the Bibbs money. That is five hundred dollars.”
“You mean to keep all the state money yourself?”
“I have put in almost four months on this job. I think it is owing to me.”
“Will the family pay off?”
LaBoeuf replied, “I will be frank to say the Bibbses are not loose with their money. It holds to them like the cholera to a nigger. But I guess they will have to pay. They have made public statements and run notices in the paper. There is a son, Fatty Bibbs, who wants to run for the man’s seat in Austin. He will be obliged to pay.”